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tONGFBLLOWf 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



^T OO 1QQi. 



THE 



EARLY POEMS 



OP 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 



COMPRISING 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT AND OTHER POEMS, 

BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS, POEMS ON 

SLAVERY, AND THE SPANISH 

STUDENT 







0CT^22jg8^')| 



BOSTON 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

New York: 11 East Seventeenth Street 

1885 



•i. -X-v^ 



Copyright, 1884, 
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 

All rights reserved. 



The Rivrrside Press, Camhrid^e : 
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 



CONTENTS 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

Page 

Prelude 9 

Hymn to the Night 15 

A Psalm of Life 16 

The Reaper and the Flowers . . . ,18 

The Light of Stars 19 

Footsteps of Angels 21 

Flowers 23 

The Beleaguered City 26 

Midnight Mass for the Dying Year . . . 28 

earlier poems. 

An April Day ....... 33 

Autumn 35 

Woods in Winter 36 

Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem 38 

Sunrise on the Hills 40 

The Spirit of Poetry 41 

Burial of the Minnisink 44 

TRANSLATIONS. 

CoPLAS DE Manrique 49 

The Good Shepherd . . . . . . 70 

To-morrow 71 

The Native Land 72 



ii Contents 

The Image of God 72 

The Brook 73 

The Celestial Pilot 74 

The Terrestrial Paradise 76 

Beatrice 77 

Spring 79 

The Child Asleep 80 

The Grave 81 

King Christian 83 

The Happiest Land ...... 85 

The Wave 87 

The Dead 87 

The Bird and the Ship 88 

Whither? 90 

Beware ! 91 

Song of the Bell 92 

The Castle by the Sea 93 

The Black Knight 95 

Song of the Silent Land 98 

L'Envoi 99 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 

BALLADS. 

The Skeleton in Armor 103 

The Wreck of the Hesperus .... 109 

The Luck of Edenhall 113 

The Elected Knight 116 

THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER . I2I 
MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Village Blacksmith 147 

Endymion 149 



Contents iii 

The Two Locks of Hair 151 

It is not always May 152 

The Rainy Day i53 

God's- Acre i54 

To THE River Charles 155 

Blind Bartimeus '57 

The Goblet of Life 158 

Maidenhood 161 

Excelsior 163 

POEMS ON SLAVERY. 

To William E. Channing 169 

The Slave's Dream 170 

The Good Part 172 

The Slave in the Dismal Swamp . . . i74 

The Slave singing at Midnight . , . 175 
The Witnesses . . » . . . .176 

The Quadroon Girl 178 

The Warning 180 

THE SPANISH STUDENT .... 185 



IXoTvia, noTvia vv^, 

WTTfoSoTeipa twv noXvnoviav ^poTwv, 

'Epe/360ei' tflt • /aoAe jixoAe KardTTTepo? 

'A'ya^ieju.vdi'ioj' ewl Sofxov * 

WTrb 7dp aAye'wi', viro re cru;a0opas 

Euripides. 



PRELUDE 

PLEASANT it was, when woods were green, 
And winds were soft and low, 
To lie amid some sylvan scene. 
Where, the long drooping boughs between, 
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen 
Alternate come and go ; 

Or where the denser grove receives 

No sunlight from above. 
But the dark foliage interweaves 
In one unbroken roof of leaves, 
Underneath whose sloping eaves 

The shadows hardly move. 

Beneath some patriarchal tree 

I lay upon the ground ; 
His hoary arms uplifted he. 
And all the broad leaves over me 
Clapped their little hands in glee, 

With one continuous sound ; — 



lO Prelude 

A slumberous sound, a sound that brings 

The feelings of a dream, 
As of innumerable wings, 
As, when a bell no longer swings, 
Faint the hollow murmur rings 

O'er meadow, lake, and stream. 

And dreams of that which cannot die, 

Bright visions, came to me. 
As lapped in thought I used to lie. 
And gaze into the summer sky, 
Where the sailing clouds went by. 

Like ships upon the sea ; 

Dreams that the soul of youth engage 

Ere Fancy has been quelled ; 
Old legends of the monkish page, 
Traditions of the saint and sage. 
Tales that have the rime of age. 
And chronicles of Eld. 

And, loving still these quaint old themes. 

Even in the city's throng 
I feel the freshness of the streams, 
That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, 
Water the green land of dreams. 

The holy land of song. 



Prelude 1 1 

Therefore, at Pentecost, which brings 
The Spring, clothed Hke a bride, 

When nestUng buds unfold their wings, 

And bishop's-caps have golden rings. 

Musing upon many things, 
I sought the woodlands wide. 

The green trees whispered low and mild ^ 

It was a sound of joy ! 
They were my playmates when a child, 
And rocked me in their arms so wild ! 
Still they looked at me and smiled. 

As if I were a boy ; 

And ever whispered, mild and low, 
" Come, be a child once more ! " 

And waved their long arms to and fro, 

And beckoned solemnly and slow ; 

O, I could not choose but go 
Into the woodlands hoar, — 

Into the blithe and breathing air. 

Into the solemn wood. 
Solemn and silent everywhere ! 
Nature with folded hands seemed there, 
Kneeling at her evening prayer ! 

Like one in prayer I stood. 



12 Prelude 

Before me rose an avenue 

Of tall and sombrous pines ; 
Abroad their fan-like branches grew, 
And, where the sunshine darted througli, 
Spread a vapor soft and blue, 
In long and sloping lines. 

And, falling on my weary brain, 

Like a fast-falling shower, 
The dreams of youth came back again, 
Low lispings of the summer rain. 
Dropping on the ripened grain. 

As once upon the flower. 

Visions of childhood ! Stay, O stay ! 

Ye were so sweet and wild ! 
And distant voices seemed to say, 
" It cannot be ! They pass away ! 
Other themes demand thy lay ; 

Thou art no more a child 1 

" The land of Song within thee lies, 

Watered by living springs ; 
The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes 
Are gates unto that Paradise, 
Holy thoughts, like stars, arise. 
Its clouds are angels' wings. 



Prelude 13 

" Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, 
Not mountains capped with snow, 

Nor forests sounding like the sea. 

Nor rivers flowing ceaselessly, 

Where the woodlands bend to see 
The bending heavens below. 

" There is a forest where the din 

Of iron branches sounds ! 
A mighty river roars between, 
And whosoever looks therein 
Sees the heavens all black with sin, 

Sees not its depths, nor bounds. 

" Athwart the swinging branches cast, 

Soft rays of sunshine pour ; 
Then comes the fearful wintry blast ; 
Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast ; 
Pallid lips say, ' It is past ! 

We can return no more ! ' 

" Look, then, into thine heart, and write ! 

Yes, into Life's deep stream ! 
All forms of sorrow and delight, 
All solemn Voices of the Night, 
That can soothe thee, or affright, — 

Be these henceforth thy theme." 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT 
HYMN TO THE NIGHT 

'A<r7racrtij, rpiXAicTTO?. 

I HEARD the trailing garments of the Night 
Sweep through her marble halls ! 
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light 
From the celestial walls I 

I felt her presence, by its spell of might, 

Stoop o'er me from above ; 
The calm, majestic presence of the Night, 

As of the one I love, 

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, ' 

The manifold, soft chimes, 
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night, 

Like some old poet's rhymes. 

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air 

My spirit drank repose ; 
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, — 

From those deep cisterns flows. 



l6 Voices of the Night 

O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 

What man has borne before ! 
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, 

And they complain no more. 

Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! 

Descend with broad-winged flight, 
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair, 

The best-beloved Night ! 



A PSALM OF LIFE 

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE 
PSALMIST 

TELL me not, in mournful numbers, 
Life is but an empty dream ! 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 



A Psalm of Life ly 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act, — - act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead ! 

Lives of great men all remind us 

We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 

Footprints on the sands of time ; — = 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er hfe's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Rtill achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait. 



1 8 Voices of the Night 



THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS 

THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 
And, with his sickle keen. 
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
And the flowers that grow between. 

" Shall I have naught that is fair ? " saith he ; 

" Have naught but the bearded grain ? 
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 

I will give them all back again." 

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 

He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
It was for the Lord of Paradise 

He bound them in his sheaves. 

" My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," 

The Reaper said, and smiled ; 
" Dear tokens of the earth are they. 

Where he was once a child. 

" They shall all bloom in fields of light, 

Transplanted by my care. 
And saints, upon their garments white, 

These sacred blossoms wear." 



The Light of Stars 19 

And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 

The flowers she most did love \ 
She knew she should find them all again 

In the fields of light above. 

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 

The Reaper came that day \ 
'T was an angel visited the green earth, 

And took the flowers away. 



THE LIGHT OF STARS 

THE night is come, but not too soon ; 
And sinking silently. 
All silently, the little moon 
Drops down behind the sky. 

There is no light in earth or heaven 

But the cold light of stars ; 
And the first watch of night is given 

To the red planet Mars. 

Is it the tender star of love ? 

The star of love and dreams ? 
O no ! from that blue tent above, 

A hero's armor gleams. 



20 Voices of the Night 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

When I behold afar, 
Suspended in the evening skies, 

The shield of that red star. 

star of strength ! I see thee stand 
And smile upon my pain ; 

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
And I am strong again. 

Within my breast there is no light 
But the cold light of stars ; 

1 give the first watch of the night 

To the red planet Mars. 

The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 
Serene, and resolute, and still, 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
That readest this brief psalm. 

As one by one thy hopes depart. 
Be resolute and calm. 

O fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know erelong. 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong. 



Footsteps of Angels 21 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS 

WHEN the hours of Day are numbered, 
And the voices of the Night 
Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 
To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door ; 
The beloved, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more ; 

He, the young and strong, who cliCilsiiecr 

Noble longings for the strife. 
By the road-side fell and perishbd, 

Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore. 

Folded their pale hands so meekly. 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 



22 Voices of the Night 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 
Who unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine. 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 
With those deep and tender eyes, 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 

Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

O, though oft depressed and lonely. 
All my fears are laid aside. 

If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died ! 



Flowers 21 



FLOWERS 

SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, 
When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, 
Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our history, 

As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, 

Like the burning stars, which they beheld. 

Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; 

But not less in the bright flowerets under us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
Written all over this great world of ours 5 

Making evident our own creation, 

In these stars of earth, these golden flowers. 

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing. 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the self-same, universal being. 

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart 



24 Voices of the Night 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 

Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, 
Buds that open only to decay ; 

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues. 
Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 

Large desires, with most uncertain issues. 
Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 

These in flowers and men are more than seeming; 

Workings are they of the self-same powers. 
Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming, 

Seeth in himself and in the flowers. 

Everywhere about us are they glowing, 
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 

Others, their blue eyes with tears overflowing, 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn ; 

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing. 

And in Summer's green-emblazoned field. 
But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, 



In the centre of his brazen shield 



Not alone in meadows and green alleys^ 
On the mountain-top, and by the brink 

Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys. 
Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink ; 



Flowers 25 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 
Not on graves of bird and beast alone, 

But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, 
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 

In the cottage of the rudest peasant. 

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers. 

Speaking of the Past unto the Present, 
Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers ; 

In all places, then, and in all seasons, 

Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, 

Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons. 
How akin they are to human things. 

And with childlike, credulous affection 
We behold tlieir tender buds expand ; 

Emblems of our own great resurrection, 
Emblems of the bright and better land. 



26 Voices of the Night 



THE BELEAGUERED CITY 

I HAVE read, in some old, marvellous tale, 
Some legend strange and vague, 
That a midnight host of spectres pale 
Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 

With the wan moon overhead. 
There stood, as in an awful dream, 

The army of the dead. 

White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 

The spectral camp was seen. 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 

The river flowed between. 

No other voice nor sound was there, 

No drum, nor sentry's pace ; 
The mist-like banners clasped the air, 

As clouds with clouds embrace. 

But when the old cathedral bell 

Proclaimed the morning prayer, 
The white pavilions rose and fell 

On the alarmed air. 



The Beleaguered City 27 

Down the broad valley fast and far 

The troubled army fled ; 
Up rose the glorious morning star, 

The ghastly host was dead. 

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man. 

That strange and mystic scroll, 
That an army of phantoms vast and wan 

Beleaguer the human soul. 

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream. 

In Fancy's misty light, 
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 

Portentous through the night. 

Upon its midnight battle-ground 

The spectral camp is seen, 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound. 

Flows the River of Life between. 

No other voice nor sound is there, 

In 1~ 1 army of the grave ; 
No other challenge breaks the air, 

But the rushing of Life's wave. 

And when the solemn and deep church-bell 

Entreats the soul to pray, 
The midnight phantoms feel the spell. 

The shadows sweep away. 



28 Voices of the Night 

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 
The spectral camp is fled ; 

Faith shineth as a morning star, 
Our ghastly fears are dead. 



MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE 
DYING YEAR 



YES, the Year is growing old, 
And his eye is pale and bleared ! 
Death, with frosty hand and cold, 
Plucks the old man by the beard, 
Sorely, sorely ! 

The leaves are falling, falling, 

Solemnly and slow ; 
Caw ! caw ! the rooks are calling, 

It is a sound of woe, 
A sound of woe ! 

Through woods and mountain passes 
The winds, like anthems, roll ; 

They are chanting solemn masses. 
Singing, " Pray for this poor soul, 
Pray, pray ! " 



Midnight Mass for the Dying Year 29 

And the hooded clouds, like friars, 
Tell their beads in drops of rain, 

And patter their doleful prayers ; 
But their prayers are all in vain, 
All in vain ! 

There he stands in the foul weather, 

The foolish, fond Old Year, 
Crowned with wild-flowers and with heather, 

Like weak, despised Lear, 
A king, a king 1 

Then comes the summer-like day, 

Bids the old man rejoice ! 
His joy ! his last ! O, the old man gray 

Loveth that ever-soft voice, 
Gentle and low. 

To the crimson woods he saith. 

To the voice gentle and low 
Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath, 

" Pray do not mock me so ! 
Do not laugh at me 1 " 

And now the sweet day is dead ; 

Cold in his arms it lies ; 
No stain from its breath is spread 

Over the glassy skies, 
No mist or stain 1 



30 Voices of the Night 

Then, too, the Old Year dieth, 
And the forests utter a moan, 

Like the voice of one who crieth 
In the wilderness alone, 
" Vex not his ghost ! " 

Then comes, with an awful roar, 
Gathering and sounding on, 

The storm-wind from Labrador, 
The wind Euroclydon, 
The storm-wind ! 

Howl ! howl ! and from the forest 
Sweep the red leaves away ! 

Would, the sins that thou abhorrest, 
O Soul ! could thus decay, 
And be swept away ! ■ 

For there shall come a mightier blast, 

There shall be a darker day ; 
And the stars, from heaven down-cast, 
Like red leaves be swept away ! 
Kyrie, eleyson ! 
Christe, eleyson ! 



EARLIER POEMS 



[These poems were written for the most part during my col- 
lege life, and all of them before the age of nineteen. 
Some have found their way into schools, and seem to be 
successful. Others lead a vagabond and precarious exist- 
ence in the corners of newspapers ; or have changed their 
names and run away to seek their fortunes beyond the 
sea. I say, with the Bishop of Avranches on a similar 
occasion: "I cannot be displeased to see these children 
of mine, which I have neglected, and almost exposed, 
brought from their wanderings in lanes and alleys, and 
safely lodged, in order to go forth into the world together 
in a more decorous £arb. "] 



AN APRIL DAY 



WHEN the warm sun, that brings 
Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 
T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs 
The first flower of the plain. 

I love the season well, 
When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, 
Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell 

The coming-on of storms. 

From the earth's loosened mould 
The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives ; 
Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, 

The drooping tree revives. 

The softly-warbled song 
Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings 
Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along 

The forest openings. 



34 Earlier Poems 

When the bright sunset fills 
The silver woods with light, the green slope throws 
Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, 

And wide the upland glows. 

And when the eve is born, 
In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, 
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, 

And twinkles many a star. 

Inverted in the tide 
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, 
And the fair trees look over, side by side. 

And see themselves below. 

Sweet April ! many a thought 
Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed ; 
Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, 

Life's golden fruit is shed. 



r 



Autumn 35 



AUTUMN 

WITH what a glory comes and goes the vear ! 
The buds of spring, those beautiful harbin- 
gers 
Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy 
Life's newness, and earth's garniture spread out \ 
And when the silver habit of the clouds 
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with 
A sober gladness the old year takes up 
His bright inheritance of golden fruits, 
A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. 

There is a beautiful spirit breathing now 
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, 
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, 
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, 
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. 
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, 
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales 
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, 
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life 
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, 
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved. 
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down 
By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees 



36 Earlier Poems 

The golden robin moves. The purple finch, 
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, 
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, 
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud 
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings, 
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, 
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. 

O what a glory doth this world put on 
For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth 
Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks 
On duties well performed, and days well spent ! 
For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, 
Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings, 
He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death 
Has lifted up for all, that he shall go 
To his long resting-place without a tear. 



WOODS IN WINTER 

HEN winter winds are piercing chill, 
And through the hawthorn blows the gale, 
With solemn feet I tread the hill. 
That overbrows the lonely vale. 



w 



O'er the bare upland, and away 

Through the long reach of desert woods, 



Woods in Winter 37 

The embracing sunbeams chastely play, 
And gladden these deep solitudes. 

WherCj twisted round the barren oak^ 
The summer vine in beauty clung, 

And summer winds the stillness broke, 
The crystal icicle is hung. 

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs 
Pour out the river's gradual tide, 

Shrilly the skater's iron rings, 

And voices fill the woodland side. 

Alas ! how changed from the fair scene, 
When birds sang out their mellow lay. 

And winds were soft, and woods were green, 
And the song ceased not with the day ! 

But still wild music is abroad, 

Pale, desert woods ! within your crowd ; 
And gathering winds, in hoarse accord. 

Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. 

Chill airs and wintry winds ! my ear 
Has grown familiar with your song ; 

I hear it in the opening year, 
I listen, and it cheers me long. 



38 Earlier Poems 



HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS 
OF BETHLEHEM 

AT THE CONSECRATION OF PUI.ASKl's BANNER 

WHEN the dying flame of day- 
Through the chancel shot its ray, 
Far the ghmmering tapers shed 
Faint light on the cowled head ; 
And the censer burning swung, 
Where, before the altar, hung 
The crimson banner, that with prayer 
Hid been consecrated there. 
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while, 
Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. 

" Take thy banner ! May it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave ; 
When the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the sabbath of our vale. 
When the clarion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills. 
When the spear in conflict shakes, 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

" Take thy banner ! and, beneath 
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, 



Hymn of the Moravian Nwis 39 

Guard it, till our homes are free ! 
Guard it ! God will prosper thee ! 
In the dark and trying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power, 
In the rush of steeds and men, 
His right hand will shield thee then. 

" Take thy banner ! But when night 
Closes round the ghastly fight. 
If the vanquished warrior bow, \ 

Spare him ! By our holy vow, j 

By our prayers and many tears, • 

By the mercy that endears, : 

Spare him ! he our love hath shared ! 
Spare him ! as thou wouldst be spared 1 

" Take thy banner ! and if e'er 
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feei, 
Then this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for thee." 

The warrior took that banner proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud ! 



40 Earlier Poems 



SUNRISE ON THE HILLS 

I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide 
arch 
Was glorious with the sun's returning march, 
And woods were brightened, and soft gales 
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales. 
The clouds were far beneath me ; bathed in light, 
They gathered mid-way round the wooded lieight, 
And, in their fading glory, shone 
Like hosts in battle overthrown, 
As many a pinnacle, with shifting glmce. 
Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, 
And rocking on the cliff was left 
The dark pine blasted, bare, and cleft. 
The veil of cloud was lifted, and below 
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow 
Was darkened by the forest's shade, 
Or glistened in the white cascade ; 
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, 
7'he noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way. 

I heard the distant waters dash, 
I saw the current whirl and flash, 
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach. 
The woods were bending with a silent reach. 



TJie Spirit of Poetry 41 

Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell, 
The music of the village bell 
Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ; 
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, 
Was ringing to the merry shout. 
That faint and far the glen sent out. 
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke, 
Through thick-leaved branches, from the dingle 
broke. 

If thou art worn and hard beset 
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget, 
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep 
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, 
Go to the woods and hills ! No tears ' 

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. 



THE SPIRIT OF POETRY 

THERE is a quiet spirit in these woods. 
That dwells where'er the gentle south wind 
blows ; 
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, 
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, 
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. 
With what a tender and impassioned voice 



42 Earlier Poems 

It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, 
When the fast ushering star of morning comes 
O'er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf; 
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve, 
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, 
Departs with silent pace ! That spirit moves 
In the green valley, where the silver brook, 
From its full laver, pours the white cascade ; 
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods. 
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless 

laughter. 
And frequent, on the everlasting hills. 
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself 
In all the dark embroidery of the storm. 
And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid 
The silent majesty of these deep woods. 
Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth. 
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air 
Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards 
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. 
For them there was an eloquent voice in all 
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun. 
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, 
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds, 
The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun 
Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, 
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, 
Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunny vale, 
The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, 



The Spirit of Poetry 43 

In many a lazy syllable, repeating 
Their old poetic legends to the wind. 

And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill 
The world ; and, in these wayward days of youth, 
My busy fancy oft embodies it. 
As a bright image of the light and beauty 
That dwell in nature ; of the heavenly forms 
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues 
That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds 
When the sun sets. Within her tender eye 
The heaven of ApJril, with its changing light. 
And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, 
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair - 
Is like the summer tresses of the trees. 
When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek 
Blushes the richness of an autumn sky. 
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, 
It is so like the gentle air of Spring, 
As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it comes 
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy 
To have it round us, and her silver voice 
Is the rich music of a summer bird. 
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence. 



44 Earlier Poems 



BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK 

ON sunny slope and beechen swell, 
The shadowed light of evening fell ; 
And, where the maple's leaf was brown, 
With soft and silent lapse came down, 
The glory, that the wood receives. 
At sunset, in its golden leaves. 

Far upward in the mellow light 
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, 
Around a far uplifted cone, 
In the warm blush of evening shone ; 
An image of the silver lakes. 
By which the Indian's soul awakes. 

But soon a funeral hymn was heard 
Where the soft breath of evening stirred 
The tall, gray forest ; and a band 
Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, 
Came winding down beside the wave, 
To lay the red chief in his grave. 

They sang, that by his native bowers 
He stood, in the last moon of flowers, 



1 

Burial of the Minnisink 45 

And thirty snows had not yet shed 
Their glory on the warrior's head ; 
But, as the summer fruit decays, 
So died he in those naked days. 

A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin 
Covered the warrior, and within 
Its heavy folds the weapons, made 
For the hard toils of war, were laid ; 
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds, 
And the broad belt of shells and beads. 

Before, a dark-haired virgin train 
Chanted the death dirge of the slain ; 
Behind, the long procession came 
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame, 
With hea\7 hearts, and eyes of grief, 
Leading the war-horse of their chief 

Stripped of his proud and martial dress, 
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless. 
With darting eye, and nostril spread, 
And heavy and impatient tread, 
He came ; and oft that eye so proud 
Asked for his rider in the crowd. 

They buried the dark chief; they freed 
Beside the grave his battle steed ; 



4^ Earlier Poems 

And swift an arrow cleaved its way 
To his stern heart ! One piercing neigh 
Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, 
The rider grasps his steed again. 



TRANSLATIONS 



[Don Jorge Manrique, the author of the following poem, 
flourished in the last half of the fifteenth century. He 
followed the profession of arms, and died on the field of 
battle. Mariana, in his History of Spain, makes hon- 
orable mention of him, as being present at the siege of 
Ucles ; and speaks of him as " a youth of estimable quali- 
ties, who in this war gave brilliant proofs of his valor. 
He died young ; and was thus cut off from long exercising 
his great virtues, and exhibiting to the world the light of 
his genius, which was already known to fame. " He was 
mortally wounded in a skirmish near Cafiavete, in the year 
1479. 

The name of Rodrigo Manrique, the father of the poet, 
Conde de Paredes and Maestre de Santiago, is well known 
in Spanish histoiy and song. He died in 1476 ; accord- 
ing to Mariana, in the town of Ucles ; but, according to 
the poem of his son, in Ocafia. It was his death that called 
forth the poem upon which rests the Uterary reputation of 
the younger Manrique. In the language of his historian, 
" Don Jorge Manrique, in an elegant Ode, full of poetic 
beauties, rich embellishments of genius, and high moral 
reflections, mourned the death of his father as with a 
funeral hymn." This praise is not exaggerated. The 
poem is a model in its kind. Its conception is solemn 
and beautiful ; and, in accordance with it, the style moves 
on, — calm, dignified, and majestic] 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE 

FROM THE SPANISH 

OLET the soul her slumbers break, 
Let thought be quickened, and awake 
Awake to see 

How soon this life is past and gone, 
And death comes softly stealing on, 
How silently ! 

Swiftly our pleasures glide away, 
Our hearts recall the distant day 
With many sighs ; 

The moments that are speeding fast 
We heed not, but the past, — the past, 
More highly prize. 



Onward its course the present keeps, 

Onward the constant current sweeps, | 

Till life is done ; 1 

And, did we judge of time aright, \ 

The past and future in their flight 

Would be as one. 



50 Translations 

Let no one fondly dream again, 
That Hope and all her shadowy train 
Will not decay ; 

Fleeting as were the dreams of old, 
Remembered like a tale that 's told, 
They pass away. 

Our lives are rivers, gliding free 
To that unfathomed, boundless sea. 
The silent grave ! 

Thither all earthly pomp and boast 
Roll, to be swallowed up and lost 
In one dark wave. 



Thither the mighty torrents stray. 
Thither the brook pursues its way, 
And tinkling rill. 
There all are equal ; side by side 
The poor man and the son of pride 
Lie calm and still. 

I will not here invoke the throng 

Of orators and sons of song. 

The deathless few ; 

Fiction entices and deceives. 

And, sprinkled o'er her fragrant leaves, 

Lies poisonous dew. 



Coplas de Manriqtie 5 1 

To One alone my thoughts arise, 

The Eternal Truth, the Good and Wise, 

To Him I cry, 

Who shared on earth our common lot, 

But the world comprehended not 

His deity. 

This world is but the rugged road 
Which leads us to the bright abode 
Of peace above ; 

So let us choose that narrow way, 
"Which leads no traveller's foot astray 
From realms of love. 

Our cradle is the starting-place, 
Life is the running of the race, 
We reach the goal 
AVhen, in the mansions of the blest, 
Death leaves to its eternal rest 
The weary soul. 

Did we but use it as we ought, 

This world would school each wandering thought 

To its high state. 

Faith wings the soul beyond the sky. 

Up to that better world on high, 

For which we wait. 



5 2 Translations 

Yes, the glad messenger of love, 
To guide us to our home above, 
The Saviour came ; 
Born amid mortal cares and fears, 
He suffered in this vale of tears 
A death of shame. 



Behold of what delusive worth 
The bubbles we pursue on earth, 
The shapes we chase, 
Amid a world of treachery ! 
They vanish ere death shuts the eye, 
And leave no trace. 

Time steals them from us, chances strange, 

Disastrous accident, and change. 

That come to all ; 

Even in the most exalted state. 

Relentless sweeps the stroke of fate ; 

The strongest fall. 

Tell me, the charms that lovers seek 
In the clear eye and blushing cheek, 
The hues that play 
O'er rosy lip and brow of snow, 
When hoary age approaches slow, 
Ah, where are they ? 



Cop las de Manrique 53 

The cunning skill, the curious arts, 
llie glorious strength that youth imparts 
In life's first stage ; 
These shall become a heavy weight, 
When Time swings wide his outward gate 
To weary age. • 

The noble blood of Gothic name, 
Heroes emblazoned high to fame, 
In long array ; 

How, in the onward course of time, 
The landmarks of that race sublime 
Were swept away ! 

Some, the degraded slaves of lust, 
Prostrate and trampled in the dust, 
Shall rise no more ; 
Others, by guilt and crime, maintain 
The scutcheon, that, without a stain. 
Their fathers bore. 

Wealth and the high estate of pride. 
With what untimely speed they glide. 
How soon depart ! 
Bid not the shadowy phantoms stay. 
The vassals of a mistress they. 
Of fickle heart. 



54 Translations 

These gifts in Fortune's hands are found ; 
Her swift revolving wheel turns round, 
And they are gone ! 
No rest the inconstant goddess knows, 
But changing, and without repose, 
Still hurries on. 



Even could the hand of avarice save 
Its gilded baubles, till the grave 
Reclaimed its prey. 
Let none on such poor hopes rely ; 
Life, like an empty dream, flits by, 
And where are they ? 

Earthly desires and sensual lust 
Are passions springing from the dust, 
They fade and die ; 
But, in the life beyond the tomb, 
They seal the immortal spirit's doom 
Eternally ! 

The pleasures and delights, which mask 
In treacherous smiles life's serious task. 
What are they, all. 
But the fleet coursers of the chase, 
And death an ambush in the race, 
Wherein we fall ? 



Coplas de Manrique 55 

No foe, no dangerous pass, we heed, 
Brook no delay, but onward speed 
With loosened rein ; 
And, when the fatal snare is near, 
We strive to check our mad career, 
But strive in vain. ■ 

Could we new charms to age impart, 
And fashion with a cunning art 
The human face. 

As we can clothe the soul with light, 
And make the glorious spirit bright 
With heavenly grace, 

How busily each passing hour 
Should we exert that magic power, 
What ardor show. 
To deck the sensual slave of sin. 
Yet leave the freeborn soul within, 
In weeds of woe ! 

Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, 

Famous in history and in song 

Of olden time. 

Saw, by the stern decrees of fate, 

Their kingdoms lost, and desolate 

Their race sublime. 



56 Translations 

Who is the champion ? who the strong ? 

Pontiff and priest, and sceptred throng ? 

On these shall fall 

As heavily the hand of Death, 

As when it stays the shepherd's breath 

Beside his stall. 



I speak not of the Trojan name, 

Neither its glory nor its shame 

Has met our eyes ; 

Nor of Rome's great and glorious dead. 

Though we have heard so oft, and read. 

Their histories. 

Little avails it now to know 
Of ages passed so long ago, 
Nor how they rolled ; 
Our theme shall be of yesterday. 
Which to oblivion sweeps away. 
Like days of old. 

Where is the King, Don Juan ? Where 
Each royal prince and noble heir 
Of Aragon ? 

Where are the courtly gallantries .? 
The deeds of love and high emprise, 
In battle done ? 



Capias de Mauri que 57 

Tourney and joust, that charmed the eye, 
And scarf, and gorgeous panoply, 
And nodding plume, 
What were they but a pageant scene ? 
What but the garlands, gay and green, 
That d^k the .tomb ? 



Where are the high-born dames, and where 
Their gay attire, and jewelled hair. 
And odors sweet ? 

\Vhere are the gentle knights, that came 
To kneel, and breathe love's ardent flame. 
Low at their feet ? 



\Vhere is the song of Troubadour ? 

Where are the lute and gay tambour 

They loved of yore ? 

Where is the mazy dance of old, 

The flowing robes, inwrought with gold. 

The dancers wore ? 



And he who next the sceptre swayed. 
Henry, whose royal court displayed 
Such power and pride ; 
O, in what winning smiles arrayed, 
The world its various pleasures laid 
His throne beside ! 



58 Translations 

But O how false and full of guile 
That world, which wore so soft a smile 
But to betray ! 

She, that had been his friend before, 
Now from the fated monarch tore 
Her charms away. 

The countless gifts, the stately walls. 

The royal palaces, and halls 

All filled with gold ; 

Plate with armorial bearings wrought. 

Chambers with ample treasures fraught 

Of wealth untold ; 

The noble steeds, and harness bright, 
And gallant lord, and stalwart knight. 
In rich array. 

Where shall we seek them now ? Alas ! 
Like the bright dewdrops on the grass. 
They passed away. 

His brother, too, whose factious zeal 
Usurped the sceptre of Castile, 
Unskilled to reign ; 
What a gay, brilliant court had he, 
When all the flower of chivalry 
Was in his train ! 



Coplas de Manrique 59 

But he was mortal ; and the breath, 

That flamed from the hot forge of Death, 

Blasted his years ; 

Judgment of God ! that flame by thee, 

When raging fierce and fearfully, 

Was quenched in. tears ! 

Spain's haught}^ Constable, the true 
And gallant Master, whom we knew 
Most loved of all ; 
Breathe not a whisper of his pride, 
He on the gloomy scaflbld died. 
Ignoble fall ! 

The countless treasures of his care, 

His villages and villas fair. 

His mighty power. 

What were they all but grief and shame, 

Tears and a broken heart, when came 

The parting hour ? 

His other brothers, proud and high, 
Masters, who, in prosperity, 
Might rival kings ; 
Who made the bravest and the best 
The bondsmen of their high behest. 
Their underlings ; 



6o Translations 

What was their prosperous estate, 
When high exalted and elate 
With power and pride ? 
What, but a transient gleam of light, 
A flame, which, glaring at its height, 
Grew dim and died ? 

So many a duke of royal name. 
Marquis and count of spotless fame. 
And baron brave, 

That might the sword of empire wield, 
All these, O Death, hast thou concealed 
In the dark grave ! 

Their deeds of mercy and of arms. 
In peaceful days, or war's alarms. 
When thou dost show, 
O Death, thy stern and angry face. 
One stroke of thy all-powerful mace 
Can overthrow. 

Unnumbered hosts, that threaten nigh. 
Pennon and standard flaunting high. 
And flag displayed ; 
High battlements intrenched around, 
Bastion, and moated wall, and mound. 
And palisade. 



Cop las de Manrique 6 1 

And covered trench, secure and deep, 

All these cannot one victim keep, 

O Death, from thee. 

When thou dost battle in thy wiath. 

And thy strong shafts pursue their path 

Unerringly. 

O World ! so few the years we live. 

Would that the life which thou dost give 

Were life indeed ! 

Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 

Our happiest hour is when at last 

The soul is freed. 

Our days are covered o'er with grief, 

And sorrows neither few nor brief 

Veil all in gloom ; 

Left desolate of real good. 

Within this cheerless solitude 

No pleasures bloom. 

Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
And ends in bitter doubts and fears, 
Or dark despair ; 
Midway so many toils appear, 
That he who lingers longest here 
Knows most of care. 



62 Translations 

Thy goods are bought with many a groan, 

By the hot sweat of toil alone, 

And weary hearts ; 

Fleet-footed is the approach of woe. 

But with a lingering step and slow 

Its form departs. 

And he, the good man's shield and shade, 

To whom all hearts their homage paid. 

As Virtue's son, 

Roderic Manrique, he whose name 

Is written on the scroll of Fame, 

Spain's champion ; 

His signal deeds and prowess high 

Demand no pompous eulogy, - 

Ye saw his deeds ! j 

Why should their praise in verse be sung ? \ 

The name, that dwells on every tongue, 

No minstrel needs. 

To friends a friend ; how kind to all 

The vassals of this ancient hall 

And feudal fief ! '. 

To foes how stern a foe was he ! \ 

And to the valiant and the free \ 

How brave a chief! ^ 



Coplas de Manrique 63 

What prudence with the old and wise : 

What grace in youthful gayeties ; 

In all how sage ! 

Benignant to the serf and slave, 

He showed the base and falsely brave 

A lion's rage. ■ 

His was Octavian's prosperous star, 

The rush of Caesar's conquering car 

At battle's call ; 

His, Scipio's virtue ; his, the skill 

And the indomitable will 

Of Hannibal. 

His was a Trajan's goodness, his 

A Titus' noble charities 

And righteous laws ; 

The arm of Hector, and the might 

Of Tully, to maintain the right 

In truth's just cause ; 

The clemency of Antonine, 
Aurelius' countenance divine, 
Firm, gentle, still ; 
The eloquence of Adrian, 
And Theodosius' love to man, 
And generous will \ 



64 Translations 

In tented field and bloody fray, 
An Alexander's vigorous sway 
And stern command ; 
The faith of Constantine ; ay, more, 
The fervent love Camillus bore 
His native land. 

He left no well-filled treasury, 

He heaped no pile of riches high, 

Nor massive plate ; 

He fought the Moors, and, in their fall, 

City and tower and castled wall 

Were his estate. 

Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, 
Brave steeds and gallant riders found 
A common grave ; 

And there the warrior's hand did gain 
The rents, and the long vassal train, 
That conquest gave. 

And if, of old, his halls displayed 
The honored and exalted grade 
His worth had gained, 
So, in the dark, disastrous hour, 
Brothers and bondsmen of his power 
His hand sustained. 



Cop las de Manrique 65 

After high deeds, not left untold, 

In the stern warfare, which of old 

'T was his to share. 

Such noble leagues he made, that more 

And fairer regions, than before, 

His guerdon were. 

These are the records, half effaced. 

Which, with the hand of youth, he traced 

On history's page ; 

But with fresh victories he drew 

Each fading character anew 

In his old age. 

By his unrivalled skill, by great 
And veteran service to the state, 
By worth adored. 
He stood, in his high dignity. 
The proudest knight of chivalry, 
Knight of the Sword. 

He found his cities and domains 
Beneath a tyrant's galling chains 
And cruel power ; 
But, by fierce battle and blockade. 
Soon his own banner was displayed 
From every tower. 



66 Translations 

By the tried valor of his hand, 

His monarch and his native land 

Were nobly served ; 

Let Portugal repeat the story, 

And proud Castile, who shared the glory 

His arms deserved. 

And when so oft, for weal or woe, 

His life upon the fatal throw 

Had been cast down ; 

When he had served, with patriot zeal, 

Beneath the banner af Castile, 

His sovereign's crown ; 

And done such deeds of valor strong, 
That neither history nor song 
Can count them all ; 
Then, on Ocana's castled rock. 
Death at his portal came to knock, 
With sudden call, 

Saying, " Good Cavalier, prepare 
To leave this world of toil and care 
With joyful mien ; 

Let thy strong heart of steel this day 
Put on its armor for the fray. 
The closing scene. 



Coplas de Manrique 6y 

" Since thou hast been, in battle-strife, 

So prodigal of health and life, 

For earthly fame, 

Let virtue nerve thy heart again ; 

Loud on the last stern battle-plain 

They call thy name. 

*' Think not the struggle that draws near 

Too terrible for man, nor fear 

To meet the foe ; 

Nor let thy noble spirit grieve. 

Its life of glorious fame to leave 

On earth below. 

" A life of honor and of worth 

Has no eternity on earth, 

'T is but a name ; 

And yet its glory far exceeds 

That base and sensual life, which leads 

To want and shame. 

" The eternal life, beyond the sky. 
Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high 
And proud estate ; 
The soul in dalliance laid, the spirit 
Corrupt with sin, shall not inherit 
A joy so great. 



68 Translations 

\ " But the good monk, in cloistered cell, 

I Shall gain it by his book and bell, 

\ His prayers and tears ; 

\ And the brave knight, whose arm endures 

f Fierce battle, and against the Moors 

I His standard rears. 



" And thou, brave knight, whose hand has poured 
\ The life-blood of the Pagan horde 

O'er all the land, 
j In heaven shalt thou receive, at length, 

iThe guerdon of thine earthly strength 
And dauntless hand. 

\ 

t 

" Cheered onward by this promise sure, 

Strong in the faith entire and pure 

Thou dost profess. 

Depart, thy hope is certainty. 

The third, the better life on high 

Shalt thou possess." 

" O Death, no more, no more delay ; 

My spirit longs to flee away, 

And be at rest ; 

The will of Heaven my will shall be, 

I bow to the divine decree, 

To God's behest. 



Coplas de Manrique 6g 

*" My soul is ready to depart, 1 

No thought rebels, the obedient heart I 
Breathes forth no sigh ; - \ 

The wish on earth to linger still \ 

Were vain, when 't is God's sovereign will j 

That we shall die. 1 



" O thou, that for our sins didst take 
A human form, and humbly make 
Thy home on earth ; 
Thou, that to thy divinity 
A human nature didst ally 
By mortal birth, 

" And in that form didst sufifer here 
Torment, and agony, and foar, 
So patiently ; 

By thy redeeming grace alone. 
And not for merits of my own, 
O, pardon me ! " 

As thus the dying warrior prayed, 
Without one gathering mist or shade 
Upon his mind ; 
Encircled by his family. 
Watched by affection's gentle eye 
So soft and kind ; 



70 Translations 

His soul to Him, who gave it, rose ; 

God lead it to its long repose, 

Its glorious rest ! 

And, though the warrior's sun has set, 

Its light shall linger round us yet, 

Bright, radiant, blest. 



THE GOOD SHEPHERD 

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA 

SHEPHERD ! who with thine amorous, sylvan 
song 
Hast broken the slumber that encompassed me, 
Who mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, 
On which thy powerful arms were stretched so 
long ! 
Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains ; 

For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be > 
I will obey thy voice, and wait to see 
Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. 
Hear, Shepherd ! thou who for thy flock art dying, 
O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou 
Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow. 



To-Morrow *J\ 

O, wait ! to thee my weary soul is crying, 
Wait for me ! Yet why ask it, when I see, 
With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt waiting still 
for me ! 



TO-MORROW 

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA 

LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care,. 
Thou didst seek after me, that thou didst wait, 
Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, 
And pass the gloomy nights of winter there ? 

O strange delusion ! that I did not greet 

Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven how lost, 

If my ingratitude's unkindly frost 

Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet. 

How oft my guardian angel gently cried, 

" Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see 
How he persists to knock and wait for thee ! " 

And, O ! how often to that voice of sorrow, 
" To-morrow we will open," I replied. 
And when the morrow came I answered still, 
"To-morrow." 



12 Translations 



THE NATIVE LAND 

FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA 

CLEAR fount of light ! my native land on high, 
Bright with a glory that shall never fade ! 
Mansion of truth ! without a veil or shade, 
Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's eye. 

There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, 
Gasping no longer for life's feeble breath ; 
But, sentinelled in heaven, its glorious presence 
With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not, death. 

Beloved country ! banished from thy shore, 
A stranger in this prison-house of clay. 
The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee ! 

Heavenward the bright perfections I adore 
Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, 
That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwell- 
ing be. 



THE IMAGE OF GOD 

FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA 

OLORD ! who seest, from yon starry height. 
Centred in one the future and the past, 
Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast 
The world obscures in me what once was bright ! 



The Brook 73 

Eternal Sun ! the warmth which thou hast given, 
To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays ; 
Yet, in the hoary winter of my days. 
Forever green shall be my trust in Heaven. 

Celestial King ! O let thy presence pass 
Before my spirit, and an image fair 
Shall meet that look of mercy from on high. 

As the reflected image in a glass 

Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, 
And owes its being to the gazer's eye. 



THE BROOK 

FROM THE SPANISH 

LAUGH of the mountain ! — lyre of bird and 
tree ! 
Pomp of the meadow ! mirror of the morn ! 
The soul of April, unto whom are born 
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee ! 
Although, where'er thy devious current strays, 
TJie lap of earth with gold and silver teems. 
To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems 
Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd's 
gaze. 
How without guilt thy bosom, all transparent 
As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye 



1 



74 Translations 

Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles 
count ! 
How, without mahce murmuring, glides thy current ! 
O sweet simplicity of days gone by ! 
Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in lim- 
pid fount ! 



THE CELESTIAL PILOT 

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, II. 

AND now, behold ! as at the approach of morn- 
ing, 
Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red 
Down in the west upon the ocean floor. 

Appeared to me, — may I again behold it ! 
A light along the sea, so swiftly coming. 
Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled. 

And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little 
Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor, 
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. 

Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared 

I knew not what of white, and underneath, 
Little by little, there came forth another. 

My master yet had uttered not a word, 

While the first whiteness into wings unfolded ; 
But, when he clearly recognized the pilot, 



The Celestial Pilot 7S 

He cried aloud : " Quick, quick, and bow the knee ! 
Behold the Angel of God ! fold up thy hands 1 
Henceforward shalt thou see such officers ! 

See, how he scorns all human arguments, 
So that no oar he wants, nor other sail 
Than his own wings, between so distant shores ! 

See, how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven. 
Fanning the air with the eternal pinions, 
That do not moult themselves like mortal hair ! " 

And then, as nearer and more near us came 

The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, 
So that the eye could not sustain his presence. 

But down I cast it ; and he came to shore 
With a small vessel, gliding swift and light. 
So that the water swallowed naught thereof. 

Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot ! 
Beatitude seemed written in his face ! 
And more than a hundred spirits sat within. 

" fn exitu Israel de ^gypto /" 

Thus sang they all together in one voice. 
With whatso in that Psalm is after written. 

Then made he sign of holy rood upon them. 
Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, 
And he departed swiftly as he came. 



76 Translations 



THE TERRESTRIAL PARADISE 

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII. 

LONGING already to search in and round 
The heavenly forest, dense and living-green, 
Which tempered to the eyes the new-born day, 

Withouten more delay I left the bank, 
Crossing the level country slowly, slowly, 
Over the soil, that everywhere breathed fragrance. 

A gently-breathing air, that no mutation 
Had in itself, smote me upon the forehead. 
No heavier blow, than of a pleasant breeze. 

Whereat the tremulous branches readily 

Did all of them bow downward towards that side 
Where its first shadow casts the Holy Mountain ; 

Yet not from their upright direction bent 
So that the little birds upon their tops 
Should cease the practice of their tuneful art ; 

But, with full-throated joy, the hours of prime 
Singing received they in the midst of foliage 
That made monotonous burden to their rhymes. 

Even as from branch to branch it gathering swells. 
Through the pine forests on the shore of Chiassi, 
When ^olus unlooses the Sirocco. 

Already my slow steps had led me on 



Beatrice 77 

Into the ancient wood so far, that I 

Could see no more the place where I had entered. 
A.nd lo ! my further course cut off a river, 

Which, tow'rds the left hand, with its little waves, 

^ent down the grass, that on its margin sprang. 
All waters that on earth most limpid are, 

Would seem to have within themselves some 
mixture. 

Compared with that, which nothing doth conceal. 
Although it moves on with a brown, brown current. 

Under the shade perpetual, that never 

Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the moon. 



BEATRICE 

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX., XXXI. 



E 



VEN as the Blessed, at the final summons, 
f I '^ Shall rise up quickened, each one from his 

I grave, 

\ Wearing again the garments of the flesh, 

\ So, upon that celestial chariot, 

I K hundred rose ad vocem tanti senis, 

\ Ministers and messengers of life eternal. 

\ They all were saying, " Benedicius qui venis!^ 

\ And scattering flowers above and round about, 

" Manibiis o date lilia pkftis" 
Oft have I seen, at the approach of day, 



y8 Translations 

The orient sky all stained with roseate hues, 
And the other heaven with light serene adorned, 

And the sun's face uprising, overshadowed. 
So that, by temperate influence of vapors. 
The eye sustained his aspect for long while ; 

Thus in the bosom of a cloud of flowers, 

Which from those hands angelic were thrown up, 
And down descended inside and without. 

With crown of olive o'er a snow-white veil. 
Appeared a lady, under a green mantle, 
Vested in colors of the living flame. 

Even as the snow, among the living rafters 
Upon the back of Italy, congeals. 
Blown on and beaten by Sclavonian winds. 

And then, dissolving, filters through itself. 
Whene'er the land, that loses shadow, breathes, 
Like as a taper melts before a fire. 

Even such I was, without a sigh or tear, 
Before the song of those who chime forever 
After the chiming of the eternal spheres ; 

But, when I heard in those sweet melodies 
Compassion for me, more than had they said, 
" O wherefore, lady, dost thou thus consume 
him ? " 

The ice, that was about my heart congealed, 
To air and water changed, and, in my anguish. 
Through lips and eyes came gushing from my 
breast. 



spring 79 

Confusion and dismay, together mingled, 

Forced such a feeble " Yes ! " out of my mouth, 
To understand it one had need of sight. 

Even as a cross-bow breaks, when 't is discharged. 
Too tensely drawn the bow-string and the bow, 
And with less force the arrow hits the mark ; 

So I gave way beneath this heavy burden, 
Gushing forth into bitter tears and sighs, 
And the voice, fainting, flagged upon its passage. 



SPRING 

FROM THE FRENCH OF CHARLES d'ORLEANS 
XV. CENTURY 

GENTLE Spring ! in sunshine clad, 
Well dost thou thy power display ! 
For Winter maketh the light heart sad, 

And thou, thou makest the sad heart gay. 
He sees thee, and calls to his gloomy train, 
The sleet, and the snow, and the wind, and the rain 
And they shrink away, and they flee in fear, 
When thy merry step draws near. 

Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old. 

Their beards of icicles and snow ; 
And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold, 

We must cower over the embers low ; 



8o Translations 

And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, 
Mope like birds that are changing feather. 
But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear, 
When thy merry step draws near. 

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky 

Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud ; 
But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh ; 
Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, 
And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, 
Who has toiled for naught both late and early. 
Is banished afar by the new-born year. 
When thy merry step draws near. 



THE CHILD ASLEEP 

FROM THE FRENCH 

SWEET babe ! true portrait of thy father's face. 
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have pressed ! 
Sleep, little one ; and closely, gently place 
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast. 

Upon that tender eye, my little friend. 

Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me ! 

I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ; 
'T is sweet to watch for thee, alone for thee ! 



The Grave 8i 

His arms fall down ; sleep sits upon his brow ; 

His eye is closed ; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. 
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow, 

Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm ? 

Awake, my boy ! I tremble with affright ! 

Awake, and chase this fatal thought ! Unclose 
Thine eye but for one moment on the light ! 

Even at the price of thine, give me repose ! 

Sweet error ! he but slept, I breathe again ; 

Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile ! 
0, when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain, 

Beside me watch to see thy waking smile ? 



THE GRAVE 

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON 

FOR thee was a house built 
Ere thou wast born. 
For thee was a mould meant 
Ere thou of mother camest. 
But it is not made ready. 
Nor its depth measured, 
Nor is it seen 
How long it shall be. 
Now I bring thee 



— 4 



82 Translations 

Where thou shalt be ; 
Now I shall measure thee» 
And the mould afterwards. 

Thy house is not 
Highly timbered, 
It is unhigh and low j 
When thou art therein, 
The heel-ways are low. 
The side-ways unhigh. 
The roof is built 
Thy breast full nigh, 
So thou shalt in mould 
Dwell full cold, 
Dimly and dark. 

Doorless is that house, 
And dark it is within ; 
There thou art fast detained 
And Death hath the key. 
Loathsome is that earth-house, 
And grim within to dwell. 
There thou shalt dwell, 
And worms shall divide thee. 

Thus thou art laid. 
And leavest thy friends ; 
Thou hast no friend, 
Who will come to thee. 



King Christian 83 

Who will ever see 

How that house pleaseth thee ; 

Who will ever open 

The door for thee, 

And descend after thee ; 

For soon thou art loathsome 

And hateful to see. 



KING CHRISTIAN 

A NATIONAL SONG OF DENMARK 
FROM THE DANISH OF JOHANNES EVALD 

KING CHRISTIAN stood by the lofty mast 
In mist and smoke ; 
His sword was hammering so fast, 
Through Gothic helm and brain it passed ; 
Then sank each hostile hulk and mast, 

In mist and smoke. 
" Fly ! " shouted they, " fly, he who can ! 
Who braves of Denmark's Christian 
The stroke?" 

Nils Juel gave heed to the tempest's roar, 

Now is the hour ! 
He hoisted his blood-red flag once more. 



84 Translations 

And smote upon the foe full sore, 

And shouted loud, through the tempest's roar, 

" Now is the hour ! " 
" Fly ! " shouted they, " for shelter fly ! 
Of Denmark's Juel who can defy 

The power ? " 

North Sea ! a glimpse of Wessel rent 

Thy murky sky ! 
Then champions to thine arms were sent ; 
Terror and Death glared where he went ; 
From the waves was heard a wail, that rent 

Thy murky sky ! 
From Denmark, thunders Tordenskiol', 
Let each to Heaven commend his soul, 

And fly ! 

Path of the Dane to fame and might ! 

Dark-rolling wave ! 
Receive thy friend, who, scorning flight, 
Goes to meet danger with despite, 
Proudly as thou the tempest's might, 

Dark-rolling wave ! 
And amid pleasures and alarms, 
And war and victory, be thine arms 

My grave ! 



The Happiest Land 85 



THE HAPPIEST LAND 

FROM THE GERMAN 

THERE sat one day in quiet, 
By an alehouse on the Rhine, 
Four hale and hearty fellows. 
And drank the precious wine. 

The landlord's daughter filled their cups, 

Around the rustic board ; 
Then sat they all so calm and still. 

And spake not one rude word. 

But, when the maid departed, 

A Swabian raised his hand, 
And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, 

" Long live the Swabian land ! 

" The greatest kingdom upon earth 

Cannot with that compare ; 
With all the stout and hardy men 

And the nut-brown maidens there." 

" Ha ! " cried a Saxon, laughing. 
And dashed his beard with wine ; 

" I had rather live in Lapland, 
Than that Swabian land of thine ! 



86 Translations 

" The goodliest land on all this earth, 

It is the Saxon land ! 
There have I as many maidens 

As fingers on this hand ! " 

" Hold your tongues ! both Swabian and Saxon ! 

A bold Bohemian cries ; 
" If there 's a heaven upon this earth, 

In Bohemia it lies. 

" There the tailor blows the flute, 

And the cobbler blows the horn. 
And the miner blows the bugle, 

Over mountain gorge and bourn." 



And then the landlord's daughter 
Up to heaven raised her hand. 

And said, " Ye may no more contend, 
There lies the happiest land ! " 



The Deaa Sy 



THE WAVE 

FROM THE GERMAN OF TIEDGE 

WHITHER, thou turbid wave? 
Whither, with so much haste, 
As if a thief wert thou ? " 

" I am the Wave of Life, 
Stained with my margin's dust ; 
From the struggle and the strife 
Of the narrow stream I fly 
To the Sea's immensity, 
To wash from me the sKme 
Of the muddy banks of Time." 



THE DEAD 

FROM THE GERMAN OF STOCKMANN 

HOW they so softly rest, 
All they the holy ones, 
Unto whose dwelling-place 
Now doth my soul draw near ! 
How they so softly rest, 
All in their silent graves, 
Deep to corruption 
Slowly down-sinking ! 



88 Translations 

And they no longer weep, 
Here, where complaint is still ! 
And they no longer feel, . 
Here, where all gladness flies ! 
And, by the cypresses 
Softly o'ershadowed, 
Until the Angel 
Calls them, they slumber ! 



THE BIRD AND THE SHIP 



FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER 



;-p] 



^HE rivers rush into the sea. 
By castle and town they go ; 
The winds behind them merrily 
Their noisy trumpets blow. 



" The clouds are passing far and high. 

We little birds in them play ; 
And everything, that can sing and fly. 

Goes with us, and far away. 

" I greet thee, bonny boat ! Whither, or whence, 
With thy fluttering golden band t " — 

" I greet thee, little bird ! To the wide sea 
I haste from the narrow land. 



The Bird and the Ship 89 

" Full and swollen is every sail ; 

I see no longer a hill, 
I have trusted all to the sounding gale, 

And it will not let me stand still. 

'And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? 

Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall, 
For full to sinking is my house 

With merry companions all." — 

" I need not and seek not company, 

Bonny boat, I can sing all alone ; 
For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, 

Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. 

" High over the sails, high over the mast, 

Who shall gainsay these joys ? 
When thy merry companions are still, at last, 

Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. 

" Who neither may rest, nor listen may, 

God bless them every one ! 
I dart away, in the bright blue day. 

And the golden fields of the sun. 

" Thus do I sing my weary song, 

Wherever the four winds blow ; 
And this same song, my whole life long, 

Neither Poet nor Printer may know." 



90 



Translations 
WHITHER? 

FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER 

I HEARD a brooklet gushing 
From its rocky fountain near, 
Down into the valley rushing, 
So fresh and wondrous clear. 

I know not what came o'er me, 

Nor who the counsel gave ; 
But I must hasten downward. 

All with my pilgrim-stave ; 

Downward, and ever farther. 
And ever the brook beside ; 

And ever fresher murmured, 
And ever clearer, the tide. 

Is this the way I was going ? 

Whither, O brooklet, say ! 
Thou hast, with thy soft murmur. 

Murmured my senses away. 

What do I say of a murmur ? 

That can no murmur be ; 
T is the water-nymphs, that are singing 

Their roundelays under me. 



Beware! 91 

Let them sing, my friend, let them murmur, 

And wander merrily near ; , ' 

The wheels of a mill are going ■ 

In every brooklet clear. \ 



BEWARE! 



FROM THE GERMAN 



I KNOW a maiden fair to see, 
Take care ! 
She can both false and friendly be. 
Beware ! Beware ! 
Trust her not. 

She is fooling thee ! \ 

She has two eyes, so soft and brown, 5 

Take care ! '. 

She gives a side-glance and looks down, j 

Beware ! Beware ! > 

Trust her not, ] 

She is fooling thee ! j 

And she has hair of a golden hue, 1 

Take care ! | 

And what she says, it is not true, j 

Beware ! Beware ! | 

Trust her not, j 

She is fooling thee 1 | 



92 Translations 

She has a bosom as white as snow, 

Take care ! 
She knows how much it is best to show,, 

Beware ! Beware ! 

Trust her not, 
She is fooUng thee ! 

She gives thee a garland woven fair. 

Take care ! 
It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear, 

Beware ! Beware ! 

Trust her not, 
She is fooling thee ! 



SONG OF THE BELL 

FROM THE GERMAN 

BELL ! thou soundest merrily. 
When the bridal party 
To the church doth hie ! 
Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, 
When, on Sabbath morning. 
Fields deserted lie ! 

Bell ! thou soundest merrily ; 
Tellest thou at evening, 
Bed-time draweth nigh ! 



■ L. 

T/ie Castle by tke Sea 93 

Bell ! thou soundest mournfully, 
Tellest thou the bitter \ 

Parting hath gone by ! ' 

Say ! how canst thou mourn ? | 

How canst thou rejoice ? ] 

Thou art but metal dull ! 
And yet all our sorrowings, \ 

And all our rejoicings, 

Thou dost feel them all ! 

God hath wonders many, 
Which we cannot fathom, 

Placed within thy form ! 
When the heart is sinking. 
Thou alone canst raise it, : 

Trembling in the storm ! - 



THE CASTLE BY THE SEA 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND 

" T T AST thou seen that lordly castle, 
il That Castle by the Sea ? 

Golden and red above it 
The clouds float gorgeously. 



94 Translations 

" And fain it would stoop downward 
To the mirrored wave below j 

And fain it would soar upward 
In the evening's crimson glow." 

" Well have I seen that castle, 

That Castle by the Sea, 
And the moon above it standing, 

And the mist rise solemnly." 

" The winds and the waves of ocean. 

Had they a merry chime ? 
Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers, 

The harp and the minstrel's rhyme ? " 

" The winds and the waves of ocean. 

They rested quietly, 
But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 

And tears came to mine eye." 

" And sawest thou on the turrets 
The King and his royal bride ? 

And the wave of their crimson mantles } 
And the golden crown of pride ? 

" Led they not forth, in rapture, 

A beauteous maiden there ? 
Resplendent as the morning sun, 

Beaming with golden hair ? " 



4- 



The Black Knight 95 

" Well saw I the ancient parents, 

Without the crown of pride ; 
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe. 

No maiden was by their side ! " 



THE BLACK KNIGHT 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND 

''T^ WAS Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, 
X When woods and fields put off all sadness. 
Thus began the King and spake : 

" So from the halls 

Of ancient Hof burg's walls, 

A luxuriant Spring shall break." 

Drums and trumpets echo loudly, 
Wave the crimson banners proudly. 

From balcony the King looked on ; 
In the play of spears. 
Fell all the cavaliers, 

Before the monarch's stalwart son. 

To the barrier of the fight 
Rode at last a sable Knight. 

" Sir Knight ! your name and scutcheon, say ! " 



96 Translations 

" Should I speak it here, 
Ye would stand aghast with fear ; 
I am a Prince of mighty sway ! " 

When he rode into the lists, 

The arch of heaven grew black with mists, 

And the castle 'gan to rock ; 
At the first blow. 
Fell the youth from saddle-bow. 

Hardly rises from the shock ; 

Pipe and viol call the dances, 

Torch-light through the high halls glances j 

Waves a mighty shadow in; 
With manner bland 
Doth ask the maiden's hand, 

Doth with her the dance begin ; 

Danced in sable iron sark. 
Danced a measure weird and dark, 

Coldly clasped her limbs around ; 
From breast and hair 
Down fall from her the fair 

Flowerets, faded, to the ground. 

To the sumptuous banquet came 
Every Knight and every Dame ; 

'Twixt son and daughter all distraught, 



The Black Knight 97 

With mournful mind 

The ancient King reclined, 

Gazed at them in silent thought. 

Pale the children both did look, • 

But the guest a beaker took : 

" Golden wine will make you whole ! " 

The children drank, 

\ 
Gave many a courteous thank : 1 

" O, that draught was very cool ! " 

Each the father's breast embraces, j 

Son and daughter ; and their faces 

Colorless grow utterly ; j 

Whichever way 
Looks the fear-struck father gray, 

He beholds his children die. \ 

" Woe ! the blessed children both J 

Takest thou in the joy of youth ; 

Take me, too, the joyless father ! " 
Spake the grim Guest, i 

From his hollow, cavernous breast : 

" Roses in the spring I gather ! " 



98 Translations 



SONG OF THE SILENT LAND 

FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS 

INTO the Silent Land ! 
Ah ! who shall lead us thither ? 
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, 
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. 
Who leads us with a gentle hand 
Thither, O thither, 
Into the Silent Land ? 

Into the Silent Land ! 

To you, ye boundless regions 

Of all perfection ! Tender morning-visions 

Of beauteous souls ! The Future's pledge and 

band ! 
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, 
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms 
Into the Silent Land ! 

O Land ! O Land ! 

For all the broken-hearted 

The mildest herald by our fate allotted, 

Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 

To lead us with a gentle hand 

To the land of the great Departed, 

Into the Silent Land ! 



L Envoi 99 



L'ENVOI 

^\,^E voices, that arose 

X After the Evening's close, 
And whispered to my restless heart repose ! 

Go, breathe it in the ear 

Of all who doubt and fear. 

And say to them, " Be of good cheer ! " 

Ye sounds, so low and calm. 

That in the groves of balm 

Seemed to me like an angel's psalm ! 

Go, mingle yet once more 

With the perpetual roar 

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar ! 

Tongues of the dead, not lost. 
But speaking from death's frost, 
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! 

Glimmer, as funeral lamps. 
Amid the chills and damps 
Of the vast plain where Death encamps ! 



BALLADS 



AND OTHER POEMS 



1841 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

" Q PEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 

O Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow. 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

" I was a Viking old ! 
My deeds, though manifold, 
No Skald in song has told, 
No Saga taught thee ! 



104 Ballads and other Poems 

Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 
For this I sought thee. 

" Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand. 

Tamed the gerfalcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-bound. 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

" Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf 's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

" But when I older grew. 
Joining a corsair's crew. 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped. 



The Skeleton in Armor 105 

Many the hearts that bled, 
By our stern orders. 

" Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale. 
Draining the oaken pail, 

Filled to o'erflowing. 

" Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea. 
Soft eyes did gaze on me. 

Burning yet tender ; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

" I wooed the blue-eyed maid^i 
Yielding, yet half afraid. 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast. 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 



io6 Ballads and other Poems 

" Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleaiTi.ecl upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chanting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand. 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 

" While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed. 
And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

" She was a Prince's child, 

I but a Viking wild, 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight. 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded ? 

" Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me. 



The Skeletojz in Armor 107 

Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! 
When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

" Then launched they to the blast. 
Bent like a reed each mast. 
Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed us ; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

" And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail. 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail. 

Death without quarter ! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water ! 

" As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant. 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 
With his prey laden. 



:o8 Ballads and other Poems 

So toward the open main, 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane. 
Bore I the maiden. 



" Three weeks we westward bore. 
And when the storm was o'er, 
Cloud-Uke we saw the shore 

Stretching to lee-ward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour. 

Stands looking sea-ward. 



" There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
She had forgot her fears. 

She was a mother ; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another ! 



" Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men. 
The sun-light hateful ! 



The Wreck of the Hesperus 109 

In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warHke gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 
O, death was grateful ! 

" Thus, seamed with many scars 
Bursting these prison bars. 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul. 
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal P' 

Thus the tale ended. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

IT was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax. 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day. 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 



10 Ballads and other Poems 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouth, 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 

" I pray thee, put into yonder port. 
For I fear a hurricane. 

" Last night, the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Northeast, 
The snow fell hissing in the brine. 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came die storm, and smote amain. 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed. 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
I^or I can weather the roughest gale. 

That ever wind did blow." 



The Wreck of the Hesperus 1 1 1 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
" 'T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " — ■ 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 

O say, what may it be ? " 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 

On the Lake of Galilee. 



112 Ballads and other Poems 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistHng sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land \ 
It was the sound of the trampling surf, 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool. 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast. 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 



The Luck of Edenhall 113 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed. 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow ! 
Christ save us all from a death like this. 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



THE LUCK OF EDENHALL 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAN D 

OF Edenhall, the youthful Lord 
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call ; 
He rises at the banquet board. 
And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers all, 
" Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall ! " 

The butler hears the words with pain. 
The house's oldest seneschal. 
Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
The drinking glass of crystal tall ; 
They call it The Luck of Edenhall. 



114 Ballads and other Poems 

Then said the Lord : " This glass to praise. 

Fill with red wine from Portugal ! " 

The graybeard with trembling hand obeys ; 

A purple light shines over all, 

It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. 

Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light : 
" This glass of flashing crystal tall 
Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite ; 
She wrote in it, If this glass dothfall^ 
Farewell then^ O Luck of Edenhall! 

" 'T was right a goblet the Fate should be 
Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! 
Deep draughts drink we right willingly ; 
And willingly ring, with merry call, 
Kling ! klang ! to the Luck of Edenhall ! " 

First rings-4t-tleep, and full, and mild, 
Like to the song of a nightingale ; 
Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; 
Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, 
The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 

" For its keeper takes a race of might, 

The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; 

It has lasted longer than is right : 

Kling ! klang ! — with a harder blow than all s 



Will I try the Luck of Edenhall 



The Luck of Edenhall 115 

As the goblet ringing flies apart, 

Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; 

And through the rift, the wild flames start; 

The guests in dust are scattered all. 

With the breaking Luck of Edenhall ! I 

In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; 

He in the night had scaled the wall, \ 

Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, j 

But holds in his hand the crystal tall, J 

The shattered Luck of Edenhall. \ 

\ 

On the morrow the butler gropes alone, 

The graybeard in the desert hall. 

He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, j 

He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall j 

The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 1 

" The stone wall," saith he, " doth fall aside, 

Down must the stately columns fall ; ^i 

Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride \ \ 

In atoms shall fall this earthly ball \ 

One day like the Luck of Edenhall ! " j 



ii6 Ballads and other Poems 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT 

FROM THE DANISH 

SIR OLUF he rideth over the plain, 
Full seven miles broad and seven miles wide, 
But never, ah never can meet with the man 
A tilt with him dare ride. 

He saw under the hillside 

A Knight full well equipped ; 
His steed was black, his helm was barred j 

He was riding at full speed. 

He wore upon his spurs 

Twelve little golden birds ; 
Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, 

And there sat all the birds and sang. 

He wore upon his mail 

Twelve little golden wheels ; 
Anon in eddies the wild wind blew. 

And round and round the wheels they flew. 

He wore before his breast 

A lance that was poised in rest ; 
And it was sharper than diamond-stone, 

It made Sir Oluf s heart to groan. 



The Elected Kiiight wj 

He wore upon his helm 

A wreath of ruddy gold ; 
And that gave him the Maidens Three, 

The youngest was fair to behold. 

Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon 
If he were come from heaven down ; 

"Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, 
" So will I yield me unto thee." 



" I am not Christ the Great, 
Thou shalt not yield thee yet ; 

I am an Unknown Knight, 

Three modest Maidens have me bedight. 

" Art thou a Knight elected. 

And have three Maidens thee bedight ; 
So shalt thou ride a tilt this day, 

For all the Maidens' honor ! " 

The first tilt they together rode 
They put their steeds to the test ; 

The second tilt they together rode. 
They proved their manhood best. 

The third tilt they together rode, 

Neither of them would yield ; 
The fourth tilt they together rode. 

They both fell on the field. 



Ii8 Ballads and other Poems 

Now lie the lords upon the plain, 
And their blood runs unto death ; 

Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, 
The youngest sorrows till death. 



THE CHILDREN 

OF 

THE LORD'S SUPPER 

FROM THE SWEDISH OF BISHOP TEGNER 



THE 

CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER 

PENTECOST, day of rejoicing, had come. The 
church of the village 
Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. On the 

spire of the belfry. 
Decked with a brazen cock, the friendly flames of 

the Spring-sun 
Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apos- 
tles aforetime. 
Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her 

cap crowned with roses. 
Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the 

wind and the brooklet 
Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace ! with 

lips rosy-tinted 
Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on 

balancing branches 
Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to 

the Highest. 
Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned 

like a leaf-woven arbor 



122 Ballads and other Poems 

Stood its old-fashioned gate ; and within upon 

each cross of iron 
Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the 

hands of affection. 
Even the dial, that stood on a mound among the 

departed, 
(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was em- 
bellished with blossoms. 
Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith 

and the hamlet, 
Who on his birthday is crowned by children and 

children's children. 
So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his 

pencil of iron 
Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the 

time and its changes. 
While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered 

in quiet. 
Also the church within was adorned, for this was 

the season 
When the young, their parents' hope, and the loved- 

ones of heaven. 
Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of 

their baptism. 
Therefore each nook and corner was swept and 

cleaned, and the dust was 
Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the 

oil-painted benches. 
There stood the church like a garden ; the Feast 

of the Leafy Pavilions 



The Children of the Lords Supper 123 

Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms 

on the church wall 
Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's 

pulpit of oak-wood 
Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod 

before Aaron. 
Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and 

the dove, washed with silver, 
Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of 

wind-flowers. 
But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece 

painted by Horberg, 
Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright-curling tress 

es of angels 
Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the 

shadowy leaf-work. 
Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked 

from the ceiling. 
And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in 

the sockets. 

Loud rang the bells already ; the thronging crowd 

was assembled 
Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy 

preaching. 
Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones 

of the organ, 
Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible 

spirits. 



124 Ballads arid other Poems 

Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him 
his mantle, 

So cast off the soul its garments of earth ; and with 
one voice 

Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem 
immortal 

Of the sublime Wallin, of David's harp in the 
North-land 

Tuned to the choral of Luther; the song on its 
mighty pinions 

Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to 
heaven. 

And each face did shine like the Holy One's face 
upon Tabor. 

Lo ! there entered then into the church the Rev- 
erend Teacher. 

Father he hight and he was in the parish ; a Chris- 
tianly plainness 

Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of 
seventy winters. 

Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the herald- 
ing angel 

Walked he among the crowds, but still a contem- 
plative grandeur 

Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered 
gravestone a sunbeam. 

As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that 
faintly 

Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day 
of creation) 



The Children of the Lord's Stipper 125 

Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint 

John when in Patmos, 
Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed 

then the old man ; 
Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his 

tresses of silver. 
All the congregation arose in the pews that were 

numbered. 
But with a cordial look, to the right and the left 

hand, the old man 
Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the 

innermost chancel. 

Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Chris- 
tian service. 

Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent dis- 
course from the old man. 

Many a moving word and warning, that out of the 
heart came 

Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on 
those in the desert. 

Then, when all was finished, the Teacher re-entered 
the chancel, 

Followed therein by the young. The boys on the 
right had their places. 

Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks 
rosy-blooming. 

But on the left of these, there stood the tremulous 
lilies, 



126 Ballads and other Poems 

Tinged with the blushing Ught of the dawn, the 
diffident maidens, — 

Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes cast 
down on the pavement. 

Now came, with question and answer, the cate- 
chism. In the beginning 

Answered the children with troubled and faltering 
voice, but the old man's 

Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and 
the doctrines eternal 

Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from 
lips unpolluted. 

Each time the answer was closed, and as oft as they 
named the Redeemer, 

Lowly louted the boys, and I'owly the maidens all 
courtesied. 

Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light 
there among them. 

And to the children explained the holy, the high- 
est, in few words. 

Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity al- 
ways is simple. 

Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its 
meaning. 

E'en as the green-growing bud unfolds when Spring- 
tide approaches 

Leaf by leaf puts forth, and, warmed by the radiant 
sunshine. 

Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the per- 
fected blossom 



The Childreji of the Lord's Supper 127 

Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks witli its crown 
in the breezes, 

So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salva- 
tion, 

Line by line from the soul of childhood. The 
fathers and mothers 

Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at the 
well-worded answer. 

Now went the old man up to the altar ; — and 

straightway transfigured 
(So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate 

Teacher. 
Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as 

Death and as Judgment 
Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soul-searcher, 

earthward descending. 
Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to him 

were transparent 
Shot he ; his voice was deep, was low like the 

thunder afar off. 
So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he 

spake and he questioned. 

" This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the 
Apostles delivered. 

This is moreover the faith whereunto 1 baptized 
you, w^hile still ye 

Lay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the por- 
tals of heaven. 



128 Ballads and other Poems 

Slumbering received you then the Holy Church in 

its bosom ; 
Wakened from sleep are ye now, and the light in 

its radiant splendor 
Downward rains from the heaven ; — to-day on the 

threshold of childhood 
Kindly she frees you again, to examine and make 

your election, 
For she knows naught of compulsion, and only 

conviction desireth. 
This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of 

existence, 
Seed for the coming days ; without revocation de- 

parteth 
Now from your lips the confession ; Bethink ye, 

before ye make answer ! 
Think not, O think not with guile to deceive the 

questioning Teacher. 
Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests 

upon falsehood. 
Enter not with a lie on Life's journey ; the mul- 
titude hears you, 
Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear upon 

earth is and holy 
Standeth before your sight as a witness ; the Judge 

everlasting 
Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels in 

waiting beside him 
Grave your confession in letters of fire upon tab- 
lets eternal. 



The Childrefi of the Lord's Supper 129 

Thus then, — believe ye in God, in the Father who 

this world created ? 
Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit 

where both are united ? 
Will ye promise me here, (a holy promise !) to 

cherish 
God more than all things earthly, and every man 

as a brother ? 
Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by 

your living, 
Th' heavenly faith of affection ! to hope, to forgive, 

and to suffer, 
Be what it may your condition, and walk before 

God in uprightness ? 
Will ye promise me this before God and man ? " — 

With a clear voice 
Answered the young men Yes ! and Yes ! with lips 

softly-breathing 
Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved from 

the brow of the Teacher 
Clouds with the lightnings therein, and he spake in 

accents more gentle. 
Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's 

rivers. 

" Hail, then, hail to you all ! To the heirdom of 
heaven be ye welcome ! 
Children no more from this day, but by covenant 
brothers and sisters ! 



130 Ballads and other Poems 

Yet, — for what reason not children ? Of such ic- 

the kingdom of heaven. 
Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in 

heaven one father, 
Ruling them all as his household, — forgiving In 

turn and chastising, 
That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has 

taught us. 
Blest are the pure before God ! Upon purity and 

upon virtue 
Resteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from on 

high is descended. 
Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of 

the doctrine. 
Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and 

died on the cross for. 
O, as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred 

asylum 
Downward and ever downward, and deeper in 

Age's chill valley, 
O, how soon will ye come, — too soon ! — and 

long to turn backward 
Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, 

where Judgment 
Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, cla(3 

like a mother. 
Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart 

was forgiven. 
Life was a play and your hands grasped after the 

roses of heaven ! 



The Children of the Lord's Supper 131 

Seventy years have I lived already ; the father 

eternal 
Gave me gladness and care ; but the loveliest 

hours of existence, 
When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I 

have instantly known them, 
Known them all again ; — they were my child- 
hood's acquaintance. 
Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the 

paths of existence, 
Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Inno- 
cence, bride of man's childhood. 
Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world 

of the blessed, 
Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on life's roaring 

billows 
Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the 

ship she is sleeping. 
Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; 

in the desert 
\ngels descend and minister unto her ; she herself 

knoweth 
Naught of her glorious attendance ; but follows 

faithful and humble, 
Follows so long as she may her friend ; O do 

not reject her. 
For she cometh from God and she holdeth the 

keys of the heavens. — 
Prayer is Innocence' friend; and willingly flyeth 

incessant 



132 Ballads and other Poems 

Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of 
heaven. 

Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the 
Spirit 

Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like 
flame ever upward. 

Still he recalls with emotion his father's manifold 
mansions, 

Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed 
more freshly the flowerets, 

Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with 
the winged angels. 

Then grows the earth too narrow, too close ; and 
homesick for heaven 

Longs the wanderer again ; and the Spirit's long- 
ings are worship ; 

Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its 
tongue is entreaty. 

Ah ! when the infinite burden of life descendeth 
upon us. 

Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in 
the graveyard, 

Then it is good to pray unto God ; for his sorrow- 
ing children 

Turns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and 
helps and consoles them. 

Yet is it better to pray when all things are pros- 
perous with us. 

Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful 
Fortune 



The Children of the Lord's Supper 133 

Kneels before the Eternal's throne ; and, with 

hands interfolded, 
Praises thankful and moved the only giver of bless- 
ings. 
Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that 

comes not from Heaven ? 
What has mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it has 

not received ? 
Therefore, fall in the dust and pray ! The seraphs 

adoring 
Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of him 

who 
Hung his masonry pendant on naught, when the 

world he created. 
Earth declareth his might, and the firmament ut- 
ters his glory. 
Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward 

from heaven. 
Downward like withered leaves ; at the last stroke 

of midnight, millenniums 
Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, 

but counts them as nothing. 
Who shall stand in his presence? The wrath of 

the judge is terrific, 
Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he 

speaks in his anger 
Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like 

the roebuck. 
Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children ? This awful 

avenger, 



134 Ballads and other Poems 

Ah ! is a merciful God ! God's voice was not in 

the earthquake, 
Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the 

whispering breezes. 
Love is tlie root of creation ; God's essence ; 

worlds without number 
Lie in his bosom like children j he made them for 

this purpose only. 
Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed 

forth his spirit 
Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it 

laid its 
Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a 

flame out of heaven. 
Quench, O quench not that flame ! It is the 

breath of your being. 
Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, nor 

mother 
Loved you, as God has loved you ; for 't was that 

you may be happy 
Gave he his only son. When he bowed down his 

head in the death-hour 
Solemnized Love its triumph ; the sacrifice then 

was completed. 
Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the vail of the tem- 
ple, dividing 
Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their 

sepulchres rising 
Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of 

each other 



The Children of the Lord's Supper 135 

Th' answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's 

enigma, — Atonement ! 
Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love 

is Atonement. 
Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merci- 
ful Father ; 
iVish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, 

but affection ; 
Fear is the virtue of slaves ; but the heart that lov- 

eth is willing ; 
Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, and 

Love only. 
Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou 

likewise thy brethren ; 
One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is 

Love also. 
Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on 

his forehead ? 
Readest thou not in his face thine origin? Is he 

not sailing 
Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he 

not guided 
By the same stars that guide thee ? Why shouldst 

thou hate then thy brother ? 
Hateth he thee, forgive ! For 't is sweet to stam- 
mer one letter 
Of the Eternal's language ; — on earth it is called 

Forgiveness ! 
Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of 
thorns on his temples ? 



136 Ballads and other Poems 

Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers? 

Say, dost thou know him ? 
Ah ! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise 

his example, 
Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over 

his failings, 
Guide the erring aright ; for the good, the heavenly 

shepherd 
Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to 

its mother. 
This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that 

we know it. 
Love is the creature's welfare, with God ; but Love 

among mortals 
Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and endures, 

and stands waiting, 
Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on 

his eyelids. 
Hope, — so is called upon earth, his recompense, 

— Hope, the befriending, 
Does what she can, for she points evermore up to 

heaven, and faithful 
Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the 

grave, and beneath it 
Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet 

play of shadows ! 
Races, better than we, have leaned on her waver- 
ing promise, 
Having naught else but Hope. Then praise we 

our Father in heaven. 



The Children of the Lord's Supper 137 

Him, who has given us more ; for to us has Hope 

been transfigured, 
Groping no longer in night; she is Faith, she is 

Hving assurance. 
Faith is enhghtened Hope ; she is Hght, is the eye 

of affection. 
Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their 

visions in marble. 
Faith is the sun of life ; and her countenance 

shines like the Hebrew's, 
For she has looked upon God ; the heaven on its 

stable foundation 
Draws she with chains down to earth, and the New 

Jerusalem sinketh 
Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors de- 
scending. 
There enraptured she wanders, and looks at the 

figures majestic. 
Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them 

all is her homestead. 
Therefore love and believe ; for works will follow 

spontaneous 
Even as day does the sun ; the Right from the 

Good is an offspring, 
Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian works are 

no more than 
Animate Love and faith, as flowers are the animate 

spring-tide. 
Works do follow us all unto God ; there stand and 

bear witness 



138 Ballads and other Poeins 

Not what they seemed, — but what they were only. 

Blessed is he who 
Hears their confession secure \ they are mute upon 

earth until death's hand 
Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does 

Death e'er alarm you ? 
Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, 

and is only 
More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips 

that are fading 
Takes he the soul and departs, and rocked in the 

arms of affection, 
Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face 

of its father. 
Sounds of his coming already I hear, — see dimly 

his pinions, 
Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon 

them ! I fear not before him. 
Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On 

his bosom 
Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast ; and face 

to face standing 
Look I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by 

vapors ; 
Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits 

majestic. 
Nobler, better than I \ they stand by the throne all 

transfigured, 
Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are 

singing an anthem, 



The Children of the Lord's Supper 139 

Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language 

spoken by angels. 
You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one 

day shall gather, 
Never forgets he the weary ; — then welcome, ye 

loved ones, hereafter ! 
Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget 

not the promise. 
Wander from holiness onward to holiness ; earth 

shall ye heed not ; 
Earth is but dust and heaven is light; I have 

pledged you to heaven. 
God of the universe, hear me ! thou fountain of 

Love everlasting. 
Hark to the voice of thy servant ! I send up mj 

prayer to thy heaven ! 
Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit 

of all these, 
Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved 

them all like a father. 
May they bear witness for me, that I taught them 

the way of salvation. 
Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy word ; again may 

they know me. 
Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face 

may I place them. 
Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and ex- 
claiming with gladness. 
Father, lo ! I am here, and the children, whom thou 

hast given me ! " 



140 Ballads and other Poeins 

Weeping he spake in these words ; and now at 
the beck of the old man 

Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the 
altar's enclosure. 

Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecra- 
tion, and softly 

With him the children read ; at the close, with 
tremulous accents, 

Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction upon 
them. 

Now should have ended his task for the day ; the 
following Sunday 

Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's 

holy Supper. j 

Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teach- 
er silent and laid his 

Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward ; 
while thoughts high and holy 

Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes 
glanced with wonderful brightness. 

" On the next Sunday, who knows ! perhaps I shall 
rest in the graveyard ! 

Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken un- 
timely. 

Bow down his head to the earth r why delay I ? the 
hour is accomplished. 

Warm is the heart ; — I will ! for to-day grows the 
hai'\'est of heaven. 

What I began accomplish I now ; what failing 
therein is 



The Children of the Lord's Supper 141 

I, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend 
father. 

Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come 
in heaven, 

Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atone- 
ment ? 

What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have 
told it you often. 

Of the new covenant symbol it is, of Atonement a 
token, 

Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his 
sins and transgressions 

Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 
'T was in the beginning 

Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it 
hangs its crown o'er the 

Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the Fall ; in 
the Heart the Atonement. 

Infinite is the fall, — the Atonement infinite like- 
wise. 

See ! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, 
and forward, 

Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her 
wearied pinions, 

Sin and Atonement incessant go through the life- 
time of mortals. 

Sin is brought forth full-grown ; but Atonement 
sleeps in our bosoms 

Still as the cradled babe ; and dreams of heaven 
and of angels, 



142 Ballads and other Poems 

Cannot awake to sensation; is like the tones in 

the harp's strings, 
Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliv- 
erer's finger. 
Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the 

Prince of Atonement, 
Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands 

now with eyes all resplendent, 
Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin 

and o'ercomes her. 
Downward to earth he came and transfigured, 

thence reascended, 
Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still 

lives in the Spirit, 
Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time is, 

is Atonement. 
Therefore with reverence take this day her visible 

token. 
Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light 

everlasting 
Unto the blind is not, but is born of the eye that 

has vision. 
Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that 

is hallowed 
Lieth forgiveness enshrined ; the intention alone 

of amendment 
Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, 

and removes all 
Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his 

arms wide extended, 



TJie Children of the Lords Supper 143 

Penitence weeping and praying ; the Will that is 
tried, and whose gold flows 

Purified forth from the flames ; in a word, mankind 
by Atonement 

Breaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh Atone- 
ment's wine-cup. 

But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate 
in his bosom, 

Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ's 
blessed body, 

And the Redeemer's blood ! To himself he eateth 
and drinketh 

Death and doom ! And from this, preserve us, 
thou heavenly Father ! 

Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the brea4 of 
Atonement ? " 

Thus with emotion he asked, and together an- 
swered the children, 

" Yes ! " with deep sobs interrupted. Then read 
he the due supplications, 

Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the 
organ and anthem : 

" O Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our trans- 
gressions. 

Hear us ! give us thy peace ! have mercy, have 
mercy upon us ! " 

Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly 
pearls on his eyelids. 

Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round 
the mystical symbols. 



141 Ballads and other Poems 

O, then seemed it to me as if God, with the broad 

eye of midday, 
Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees 

in the churchyard 
Bowed down their summits of green, and the grass 

on the graves 'gan to shiver. 
But in the children (I noted it well ; I knew it) 

there ran a 
Tremor of holy rapture along through their ice-cold 

members. 
Decked like an altar before them, there stood the 

green earth, and above it 
Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen ; 

they saw there 
Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand 

the Redeemer. 
Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, 

and angels from gold clouds 
Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their 

pinions of purple. 

Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven 

in their hearts and their faces. 
Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, 

weeping full sorely, 
Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of 

them pressed he 
Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his 

hands full of blessings, 
Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent 

tresses. 



MISCELLANEOUS 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree 
The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long. 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can. 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night. 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow. 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 



Ballads and other Poems 

And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door ; 

They love to see the flaming forge, 
And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly- 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach. 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 



It sounds to him like her rnother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more. 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 



Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, 
Onward through life he goes ; 

Each morning sees some task begin, 
Each evening sees it close ; 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 



Endymion 149 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
For the lesson thou hast taught ! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought ; 

Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought ! 



T 



ENDYMION 



HE rising moon has hid the stars 
Her level rays, like golden bars, 
Lie on the landscape green, 
With shadows brown between. 



And silver white the river gleams, 
As if Diana, in her dreams. 
Had dropt her silver bow 
Upon the meadows low. 



On such a tranquil night as this. 

She woke Endymion with a kiss. 

When, sleeping in the grove. 

He dreamed not of her love. 



150 Ballads and other Poems 

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
Love gives itself, but is not bought j 
Nor voice, nor sound betrays 
Its deep, impassioned gaze. 

It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
The crown of all humanity, — 
In silence and alone 
To seek the elected one. 

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep. 
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep. 
And kisses the closed eyes 
Of him, who slumbering lies. 

O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! 

O drooping souls, whose destinies 
Are fraught with fear and pain, 
Ye shall be loved again ! 

No one is so accursed by fate. 
No one so utterly desolate. 

But some heart, though unknown, 

Responds unto his own. 

Responds, — as if with unseen wings. 
An angel touched its quivering strings ; 
And whispers, in its song, 
" Where hast thou stayed so long ! " 



The Two Locks of Hair 151 



FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER 

A YOUTH, light-hearted and content, 
I wander through the world ; 
Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent 
And straight again is furled. 

Yet oft I dream, that once a wife 
Close in my heart was locked, 

And in the sweet repose of life 
A blessed child I rocked. 

I wake ! Away that dream, — away ! 

Too long did it remain ! 
So long, that both by night and day 

It ever comes again. 

The end lies ever in my thought ; 

To a grave so cold and deep 
The mother beautiful was brought j 

Then dropt the child asleep. 

But now the dream is wholly o'er, 

I bathe mine eyes and see ; 
And wander through the world once more, 

A youth so light and free. 



152 Ballads and other Poeins 

Two locks, — and they are wondrous fair,- 

Left me that vision mild ; 
The brown is from the mother's hair, 

The blond is from the child. 

And when I see that lock of gold, 
Pale grows the evening-red ; 

And when the dark lock I behold, 
I wish that I were dead. 



IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY 

No hay pdjaros en los nidos de antano. 

Spanish Proverb. 

THE sun is bright, — the air is clear. 
The darting swallows soar and sing, 
And from the stately elms I hear 
The blue-bird prophesying Spring. 

So blue yon winding river flows. 
It seems an outlet from the sky, 

Where waiting till the west wind blows, 
The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 

All things are new ; — the buds, the leaves. 
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, 

And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — 
There are no birds in last year's nest ! 



The Rainy Day 153 

All things rejoice in youth and love, 
The fulness of their first delight ! 

And learn from the soft heavens above 
The melting tenderness of night. 

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme. 
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay , 

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 
For O ! it is not always May ! 

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
To some good angel leave the rest ; 

For Time will teach thee soon the truth. 
There are no birds in last year's nest ! 



THE RAINY DAY 

THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall. 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall. 
And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 



154 Ballads and other Poems 

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast 
And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
Into each life some rain must fall, 

Some days must be dark and dreary. 



GOD'S-ACRE 

I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls 
The burial-ground God's-Acre ! It is just ; 
It consecrates each grave within its walls. 

And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. 

God's-Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown 

The seed, that they had garnered in their hearts. 
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast. 

In the sure faith, that we shall rise again 

At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 



To the River Charles 155 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 

And each bright blossom, mingle its perfume 
With that of flowers, which never bloomed 011 
earth. 

With thy rude ploughshare. Death, turn up the sod, 
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; 

This is the field and Acre of our God, 
This is the place, where human harvests grow ! 



TO THE RIVER CHARLES 

RIVER ! that in silence windest 
Through the meadows, bright and free, 
Till at length thy rest thou findest 
In the bosom of the sea ! 

Four long years of mingled feeling, 

Half in rest, and half in strife, 
I have seen thy waters stealing 

Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! 

Many a lesson, deep and long ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver ; 

I can give thee but a song. 



156 Ballads and other Poems 

Oft in sadness and in illness, 

I have watched thy current glide, 

Till the beauty of its stillness 
Overflowed me, like a tide. 

And in better hours and brighter, 
When I saw thy waters gleam, 

I have felt my heart beat lighter. 
And leap onward with thy stream. 

Not for this alone I love thee. 
Nor because thy waves of blue 

From celestial seas above thee 
Take their own celestial hue. 

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, 

And thy waters disappear, 
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, 

And have made thy margin dear. 

More than this ; — thy name reminds me 
Of three friends, all true and tried \ 

And that name, like magic, binds me 
Closer, closer to thy side. 

Friends my soul with joy remembers ! 

How like quivering flames they start. 
When I fan the living embers 

On the hearth-stone of my heart ! 



14 



Blind Bartimeus 15^ 

T is for this, thou Silent River ! 

That my spirit leans to thee ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver, 

Take this idle song from me. 



BLIND BARTIMEUS 

BLIND Bartimeus at the gates 
Of Jericho in darkness waits ; 
He hears the crowd ; — he hears a breath 
Say, " It is Christ of Nazareth ! " 
And calls, in tones of agony, 
I?;o"oi), eXerjcrou fie / 

The thronging multitudes increase ; 
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
But still, above the noisy crowd. 
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud ; 
Until they say, " He calleth thee ! " 

Qdpaei, eyeipai, (pcoveT (re/ 

Then saith the Christ, as silent stands 
The crowd, " What wilt thou at my hands ? " 
And he replies, " O give me light ! 
Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight ! " 
And Jesus answers, "Ynayc • 
'H TTto-riy (Tov (rea-<0K6 ae I 



158 Ballads a7td other Poems 

Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see, 
In darkness and in misery, 
Recall those mighty Voices Three, 

*l-q(TOv, iXerjaov fie ! 
Qdpcrei, eyeipai, vnaye / 
*H TTia-TLS aov trecratKe are/ 



THE GOBLET OF LIFE 

FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim ; :' 

And though my eyes with tears are dim^ 
I see its sparkling bubbles swim. 
And chant a melancholy hymn 
With solemn voice and slow. 

No purple flowers, — no garlands green, j 

Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, I 

Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, I 

Like gleams of sunshine, flash between | 

Thick leaves of mistletoe. } 

This goblet, wrought with curious art, 
Is filled with waters, that upstart, 
When the deep fountains of the heart. 
By strong convulsions rent apart. 
Are running all to waste. 



The Goblet of Life 159 



And as it mantling passes round, 
With fennel is it wreathed and crowned, 
Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned 
Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 
And give a bitter taste. 

Above the lowly plants it towers. 
The fennel, with its yellow flowers, 
And in an earlier age than ours 
Was gifted with the wondrous powers, 
Lost vision to restore. 

It gave new strength, and fearless mood ; 
And gladiators, fierce and rude. 
Mingled it in their daily food ; 
And he who battled and subdued, 
A wreath of fennel wore. 

Then in Life's goblet freely press. 
The leaves that give it bitterness, 
Nor prize the colored waters less, 
For in thy darkness and distress 

New light and strength they give ! 

And he who has not learned to know 
How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
How bitter are the drops of woe. 
With which its brim may overflov;, 
He has not learned to live. 



I 

^ J. 

60 Ballads and other Poems 

The prayer of Ajax was for light ; 
Through all that dark and desperate fight, \ 

The blackness of that noonday night, ; 

He asked but the return of sight, 
To see his foeman's face. 

Let our unceasing, earnest prayer 
Be, too, for light, — for strength to bear 
Our portion of the weight of care. 
That crushes into dumb despair 
One half the human race. 

O suffering, sad humanity ! i 

ye afflicted ones, who lie ■ 
Steeped to the lips in misery, ; 
Longing, and yet afraid to die, \ 

Patient, though sorely tried ! \ 

1 pledge you in this cup of grief, \ 
Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf I | 
The Battle of our Life is brief, \ 
The alarm, — the struggle, — the relief, \ 

Then sleep we side by side. ^ 



MaidenJiood jgi 



MAIDENHOOD 

MAIDEN ! with the meek, brown eyes, 
In whose orbs a shadow Hes 
Like the dusk in evening skies ! 

Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden tresses, wreathed in one. 
As the braided streamlets run ! 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 

Gazing, with a timid glance, 
On the brooklet's swift advance. 
On the river's broad expanse ! 

Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem, 
As the river of a dream. 



Then why pause with indecision. 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 



1 62 Ballads and other Poems 

Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
As the dove, with startled eye, 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more, 
Deafened by the cataract's roar ? 

O, thou child of many prayers ! 

Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares ! 

Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon. 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — 
Age, that bough with snows encumbered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows. 
When the young heart overflows. 
To embalm that tent of snows= 



Bear a lily in thy hand ; 

Gates of brass cannot withstand 

One touch of that magic wand 



Excelsior 163 

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 
On thy Ups the smile of truth. 

O, that dew, Hke bahn, shall steal 
Into wounds, that cannot heal, 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 



EXCELSIOR 

THE shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device. 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath. 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath. 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 



:64 Ballads and other Poems 

In happy homes he saw the hght 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And fi'om his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

" Try not the Pass ! " the old man said ; 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied. 
Excelsior ! 

" O stay," the maiden said, " and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
A voice replied, far up the height. 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 



Excelsior 1 65 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star. 
Excelsior \ 



POEMS ON SLAVERY 



*^ I'? 



[The following poems, with one exceDt;on, were written at 
sea, in the latter part of October, 1842. I had not then 
heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since that event, the 
poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have 
decided, however, to let it remain as it was written, in 
testimony of my admiration for a great and good man.] 



TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING 

THE pages of thy book I read, 
And as I closed each one, 
My heart, responding, ever said, 
" Servant of God ! well done ! " 

Well done ! Thy words are great and bold 

At times tliey seem to me, 
Like Luther's, in .the days of old, 

Half-battles for the free. 

Go on, until this land revokes 

The old and chartered Lie, 
The feudal curse, whose whips and yokes 

Insult humanity. 

A voice is ever at thy side 

Speaking in tones of might. 
Like the prophetic voice, that cried 

To John in Patmos, " Write 1 " 



I/O Poems on Slavery 

Write ! and tell out this bloody tale ; 

Record this dire eclipse, 
This Day of Wrath, this Endless Wail, 

This dread Apocalypse ! 



THE SLAVE'S DREAM 

BESIDE the ungathered rice he lay, 
His sickle in his hand ; 
His breast was bare, his matted hair 

Was buried in the sand. 
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, 
He saw his Native Land. 

Wide through the landscape of his dreams 

The lordly Niger flowed ; 
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain 

Once more a king he strode ; 
And heard the tinkling caravans 

Descend the mountain-road. 

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen 

Among her children stand ; 
They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, 

They held him by the hand ! — 
A tear burst from the sleeper's lids 

And fell into the sand. 



The Slaves Dream 171 

And then at furious speed he rode 

Along the Niger's bank ; 
His bridle-reins were golden chains, 

And, with a martial clank, 
At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel 

Smiting his stallion's flank. 

Before him, like a blood-red flag, 

The bright flamingoes flew ; 
From morn till night he followed their flight 

O'er plains where the tamarind grew, 
Till he saw the roofs of Caflre huts, 

And the ocean rose to view. 

At night he heard the lion roar. 

And the hyaena scream. 
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reed.* 

Beside some hidden stream ; 
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, 

Through the triumph of his dream. 

The forests, with their myriad ton^gues, 

Shouted of liberty ; 
And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud. 

With a voice so wild and free, 
That he started in his sleep and smiled 

At their tempestuous glee. 



1/2 Poems on Slavery 

He did not feel the driver's whip, 

Nor the burning heat of day ; 
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, 

And his lifeless body lay 
A worn-out fetter, that the soul 

Had broken and thrown away ! 



THE GOOD PART, THAT SHALL 
NOT BE TAKEN AWAY 

SHE dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, 
In valleys green and cool ; 
And all her hope and all her pride 
Are in the village school. 

Her soul, like the transparent air 

That robes the hills above, 
Though not of earth, encircles there 

All things with arms of love. 

And thus she walks among her girls 
With praise and mild rebukes ; 

Subduing e'en rude village churls 
By her angelic looks. 

She reads to them at eventide 
Of One who came to save ; 



The Good Part 173 

To cast the captive's chains aside 
And liberate the slave. 

And oft the blessed time foretells 

When all men shall be free ; 
And musical, as silver bells, 

Their falling chains shall be. 

And following her beloved Lord, 

In decent poverty, 
She makes her life one sweet record 

And deed of charity. 

For she was rich, and gave up all 

To break the iron bands 
Of those who waited in her hall. 

And labored in her lands. 

Long since beyond the Southern Sea 
Their outbound sails have sped, 

While she, in meek humility. 
Now earns her daily bread. 

It is their prayers, which never cease, 
That clothe her with such grace ; 

Their blessing is the light of peace 
That shines upon her face. 



174 Poems on Slavery 



THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL 
SWAMP 

IN dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 
The hunted Negro lay ; 
He saw the fire of the midnight camp, 
And heard at times a horse's tramp 
And a bloodhound's distant bay. 

Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow-worms shine, 

In bulrush and in brake ; 
Where waving mosses shroud the pine, 
And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine 

Is spotted like the snake ; 

Where hardly a human foot could pass. 

Or a human heart would dare. 
On the quaking turf of the green morass 
He crouched in the rank and tangled grass, 

Like a wild beast in his lair. 

A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; 

Great scars deformed his face ; 
On his forehead he bore the brand of shame, 
And the rags, that hid his mangled frame, 

Were the livery of disgrace. 



The Slave Singmg at Midnight 175 

All things above were bright and fair, 

All things were glad and free ; 
Lithe squirrels darted here and there, 
And wild birds filled the echoing air 

With songs of Liberty ! 

On him alone was the doom of pain. 

From the morning of his birth ; 
On him alone the curse of Cain 
Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain, 
And struck him to the earth ! 



THE SLAVE SINGING AT 
MIDNIGHT 

LOUD he sang the psalm of David ! 
He, a Negro and enslaved, 
Sang of Israel's victory, 
Sang of Zion, bright and free. 

In that hour, when night is calmest. 
Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, 
In a voice so sweet and clear 
That I could not choose but hear. 

Songs of triumph, and ascriptions. 
Such as reached the swart Egyptians, 



iy6 Poems on Slavery 

When upon the Red Sea coast 
Perished Pharaoh and his host. 

And the voice of his devotion 
Filled my soul with strange emotion \ 
For its tones by turns were glad, 
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 

Paul and Silas, in their prison, 
Sang of Christ, the Lord arisen. 
And an earthquake's arm of might 
Broke their dungeon-gates at night. 

But, alas ! what holy angel 
Brings the Slave this glad evangel ? 
And what earthquake's arm of might 
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night t 



THE WITNESSES 

IN Ocean's wide domains, 
Half buried in the sands. 
Lie skeletons in chains, 

With shackled feet and hands. 

Beyond the fall of dews. 
Deeper than plummet lies, 



The Witnesses 177 

Float ships, with all their crews, 
No more to sink nor rise. 

There the black Slave-ship swims, 

Freighted with human forms, 
Whose fettered, fleshless limbs 

Are not the sport of storms. 

These are the bones of Slaves ; 

They gleam from the abyss ; 
They cry, from yawning waves, 

" We are the Witnesses ! " 

Within Earth's wide domains 

Are markets for men's lives ; 
Their necks are galled with chains, 

Their wrists are cramped with gyves 

Dead bodies, that the kite 

In deserts makes its prey ; 
Murders, that with affright 

Scare school-boys from their play ! 

All evil thoughts and deeds ; 

Anger, and lust, and pride ; 
The foulest, rankest weeds, 

That choke Life's groaning tide ! 



1/8 Poems on Slavery 

These are the woes of Slaves ; 

They glare from the abyss ; 
They cry, from unknown graves, 

" We are the Witnesses 1 " 



THE QUADROON GIRL 

THE Slaver in the broad lagoon 
Lay moored with idle sail ; 
He waited for the rising moon. 
And for the evening gale. 

Under the shore his boat was tied, 

And all her listless crew 
Watched the gray alligator slide 

Into the still bayou. 

Odors of orange-flowers, and spice, 
Reached them from time to time, 

Like airs that breathe from Paradise 
Upon a world of crime. 

The Planter, under his roof of thatch, 
Smoked thoughtfully and slow ; 

The Slaver's thumb was on the latch, 
He seemed in haste to go. 



The Quadroon Girl 179 

He said, " My ship at anchor rides 

In yonder broad lagoon ; 
I only wait the evening tides, 

And the rising of the moon." 

Before them, with her face upraised. 

In timid attitude. 
Like one half curious, half amazed, 

A Quadroon maiden stood. 

Her eyes were large, and full of light. 

Her arms and neck were bare ; 
No garment she wore save a kirtle bright. 

And her own long, raven hair. 

And on her lips there played a smile 

As holy, meek, and faint, 
As lights in some cathedral aisle 

The features of a saint. 

" The soil is barren, — the farm is old " ; 

The thoughtful Planter said ; 
Then looked upon the Slaver's gold, 

And then upon the maid. 

His heart within him was at strife 

With such accursed gains : 
For he knew whose passions gave her life. 

Whose blood ran in her veins. 



8o Poems on Slavery 

But the voice of nature was too weak ; 

He took the glittering gold ! 
Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek, 

Her hands as icy cold. 

The Slaver led her from the door, 

He led her by the hand, 
To be his slave and paramour 

In a strange and distant land ! 



THE WARNING 

BEWARE ! The Israelite of old, who tore 
The lion in his path, — when, poor and blind, 
He saw the blessed light of heaven no more. 

Shorn of his noble strength and forced to grind 
In prison, and at last led forth to be 
A pander to Philistine revelry, — 

Upon the pillars of the temple laid 
His desperate hands, and in its overthrow 

Destroyed himself, and with him those who made 
A cruel mockery of his sightless woe ; 

The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and jest of all. 

Expired, and thousands perished in the fall ! 



The Warning i8i 

There is a poor, blind Samson in this land, 

Shorn of his strength, and bound in bonds of 
steel, 

Who may, in some grim revel, raise his hand, 
And shake the pillars of this Commonweal, 

rill the vast Temple of our liberties 

A. shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish lies. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



1843 



DRAMATIS PERSONyE 



Victorian, ) v, j * r at t 

\ Sticdents of Alcala. 



)- . . . Gentlemen of Madrid. 



Hypolito, 

The Count of Lara, 

Don Carlos, 

The Archbishop of Toledo. 

A Cardinal. 

Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Gypsies. 

Bartolome Roman, . . . . A young Gypsy. 
The Padre Cura of Guadarrama. 

Pedro Crespo, Alcalde. 

Pancho, Algnacil. 

Francisco, Lara's Serzwit. 

Chispa, Victorian'' s Servant. 

Baltasar, Innkeeper. 

Preciosa, A Gypsy girl. 

Angelica, A poor girl. 

Martina, The Padre Cnra's Jiiece. 

Dolores, Preci^sa^s maid. 

Gypsies, Musicians^ 6^^. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. TJie Count of Lara's chambers. Night. 
The Count m his dressing-gown^ smoking and convers- 
ing with Don Carlos. 

LARA. 

^TQIJ were not at the play to-night, Don Carlos ; 
How happened it ? 

DON CARLOS. 

I had engagements elsewhere. 
Pray who was there ? 

LARA. 

Why, all the town and court. 
The house was crowded ; and the busy fans 
Among the gayly dressed and perfumed ladies 
Fluttered like butterflies among the flowers. 
There was the Countess of Medina Cell ; 
The Goblin Lady with her Phantom Lover, 
Her Lindo Don Diego ; Dona Sol, ' 
And Dona Serafina, and her cousins. 



1 86 The Spanish Student 

DON CARLOS. 

What was the play ? 

LARA. 

It was a dull affair ; 
One of those comedies in which you see, 
As Lope says, the history of the world 
Brought down from Genesis to the Day of Judg- 
ment. 
There were three duels fought in the first act, 
Three gentlemen receiving deadly wounds, 
Laying their hands upon their hearts, and saying, 
" O, I am dead 1 " a lover in a closet, 
An old hidalgo, and a gay Don Juan, 
A Dona Inez with a black mantilla, 
Followed at twilight by an unknown lover. 
Who looks intently where he knows she is not ! 

DON CARLOS. 

Of course, the Preciosa danced to-night ? 

LARA, 

And never better. Ever}^ footstep fell 
As lightly as a sunbeam on the water. 
I think the girl extremely beautiful. 

DON CARLOS. 

Almost beyond the privilege of woman ! 

I saw her in the Prado yesterday. 

Her step was royal, — queen-like, — and her face 

As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise. 



The Spanish Student i8) 

LARA. 

May not a saint fall from her Paradise, 
And be no more a saint ? 

DON CARLOS. 

Why do you ask ? 

LARA. 

Because I have heard it said this angel fell, 
And, though she is a virgin outwardly, 
Within she is a sinner ; Hke those panels 
Of doors and altar-pieces the old monks 
Painted in convents, with the Virgin Mary 
On the outside, and on the inside Venus ! 

DON CARLOS. • 

You do her wrong ; indeed, you do her wrong ! 
She is as virtuous as she is fair. 

LARA. 

How credulous you are ! Why look you, friend. 
There 's not a virtuous woman in Madrid, 
In this whole city ! And would you persuade me 
That a mere dancing-girl, who shows herself, 
Nightly, half naked, on the stage, for money, 
And with voluptuous motions fires the blood 
Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held 
A model for her virtue t 

DON CARLOS. 

You forget 
She is a Gypsy girl. 



1 88 The Spanish Student 

LARA. 

And therefore won 
The easier. 

DON CARLOS. 

Nay, not to be won at all ! 
The only virtue that a Gypsy prizes 
Is chastity. That is her only virtue. 
Dearer than life she holds it. I remember 
A Gypsy woman, a vile, shameless bawd, 
Whose craft was to betray the young and fair ; 
And yet this woman was above all bribes. 
And when a noble lord, touched by her beauty, 
The wild and wizard beauty of her race, 
Offered her gold to be what she made others, 
She turned upon him, with a look of scorn. 
And smote him in the face ! 

LARA. 

And does that prove 
That Preciosa is above suspicion ? 

DON CARLOS. 

It proves a nobleman may be repulsed 
When he thinks conquest easy. I believe 
That woman, in her deepest degradation, 
Holds something sacred, something undefiled. 
Some pledge and keepsake of her higher nature. 
And, like the diamond in the dark, retains 
Some quenchless gleam of the celestial light ! 



The Spanish Student 189 

LARA. 

Yet Preciosa would have taken the gold. 

DON CARLOS {rising). 

I do not think so. 

LARA. 

I am sure of it. 
But why this haste ? Stay yet a little longer. 
And fight the battles of your Dulcinea. 

DON CARLOS. 

'T is late. I must begone, for if I stay 
You will not be persuaded. 

LARA. 

Yes ; persuade me, 

DON CARLOS. 

No one so deaf as he who will not hear ! 

LARA. 

No one so blind as he who will not see ! 

DON CARLOS. 

And so good night. I wish you pleasant dreams, 
And greater faith in woman. \^Exit 

LARA. 

Greater faith ! 
I have the greatest faith ; for I believe 
Victorian is her lover. I believe 
That I shall be to-morrow ; and thereafter 
Another, and another, and another. 



190 The Spanish Student 

Chasing each other through her zodiac, 
As Taurus chases Aries. 

{Better Francisco with a casket.) 

Well, Francisco, 
What speed with Preciosa ? 

FRANCISCO. 

None, my lord. 
She sends your jewels back, and bids me tell you 
She is not to be purchased by your gold. 

LARA. 

Then I will try some other way to win her. 
Pray, dost thou know Victorian ? 

FRANCISCO. 

Yes, my lord ; 
I saw him at the jeweller's to-day. 

LARA. 

What was he doing there ? 

FRANCISCO. 

I saw him buy 
A golden ring, that had a ruby in it. 

LARA. 

Was there another like it ? 

FRANCISCO. 

One so like it 
I could not choose between them. 



The Spanish Sticdent 191 

LARA. 

It is well. 
To-morrow morning bring that ring to me. 
Do not forget. Now light me to my bed 

\Exeunt. 



SCENE II. 

A street in Madrid. Enter Chispa, follmued by musicians, 
with a bagpipe, guitars, and other instruments. 

CHISPA. 

Abernuncio Satanas ! and a plague on all lovers 
who ramble about at night, drinking the elements, 
instead of sleeping quietly in their beds. Every 
dead man to his cemetery, say I ; and every friar 
to his monastery. Now, here 's my master, Victo- 
rian, yesterday a cow-keeper, and to-day a gentle- 
man ; yesterday a student, and to-day a lover; 
and I must be up later than the nightingale, for 
as the abbot sings so must the sacristan respond. 
God grant he may soon be married, for then shall 
all this serenading cease. Ay, marr}^ ! marr}- ! mar- 
ry ! Mother, what does marr>^ mean .? It means to 
spin, to bear children, and to weep, my daughter ! 
And, of a truth, there is something more in matri- 
mony than the wedding-ring. ( To the musicians. ) And 
now, gentlemen, Pax vobiscum ! as the ass said to 



192 The Spanish Student 

the cabbages. Pray, walk this way ; and don't hang 
down your heads. It is no disgrace to have an old 
father and a ragged shirt. Now, look you, you are 
gentlemen who lead the life of crickets \ you en- 
joy hunger by day and noise by night. Yet, I 
beseech you, for this once be not loud, but pa- 
thetic ; for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, and 
not to the Man in the Moon. Your object is not 
to arouse and terrify, but to soothe and bring lulling 
dreams. Therefore, each shall not play upon his 
instrument as if it were the only one in the uni- 
verse, but gently, and with a certain modesty, ac- 
cording with the others. Pray, how may I call thy 
name, friend? 

FIRST MUSICIAN. 

Gerdnimo Gil, at your service. 

CHISPA. 

Every tub smells of the wine that is in it. Pray, 
Gerdnimo, is not Saturday an unpleasant day with 
thee? 

FIRST MUSICIAN. 

Why so ? 

CHISPA. 

Because I have heard it said that Saturday is 
an unpleasant day with those who have but one 
shirt. Moreover, I have seen thee at the tavern, 
and if thou canst run as fast as thou canst drink, 
I should like to hunt hares with thee. What in- 
strument is that? 



The Spanish Student 193 

FIRST MUSICIAN. 

An Aragonese bagpipe. 

CHISPA. 

Pray, art thou related to the bagpiper of Bu- 
jalance, who asked a maravedi for playing, and 
ten for leaving off? 

FIRST MUSICIAN. 

No, your honor. 

CHISPA. 

I am glad of it. What other instruments have 
we ? 

SECOND AND THIRD MUSICIANS. 

We play the bandurria. 

CHISPA. 

A pleasing instrument. And thou ? 

FOURTH MUSICIAN. 

The fife. 

CHISPA. 

I like it ; it has a cheerful, soul-stirring sound, 
that soars up to my lady's window like the song 
of a swallow. And you others ? 

OTHER MUSICIANS. 

We are the singers, please your honor. 

CHISPA, 

You are too many. Do you think we are going 
to sing mass in the cathedral of Cordova ? Four 
men can make but little use of one shoe, and I see 

VOL. IV. 9 M 



194 The Spanish Student 

not how you can all sing in one song. But follow 
me along the garden wall. That is the way my 
master climbs to the lady's window. It is by the 
Vicar's skirts that the Devil climbs into the belfry. 
Come, follow me, and make no noise. {Exetmt, 



SCENE III. 

Preciosa's chamber. She stands at the open windcnv. 
PRECIOSA. 

How slowly through the lilac-scented air 
Descends the tranquil moon ! Like thistle-down 
The vapory clouds float in the peaceful sky ; 
And sweetly from yon hollow vaults of shade 
The nightingales breathe out their souls in song. 
And hark ! what songs of love, what souMike 

sounds. 
Answer them from below ! 

SERENADE. 

Stars of the summer night ! 

Far in yon azure deeps, 
Hide, hide your golden light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Moon of the summer night ! 

Far down yon western steeps, 



The Spanish Student 195 

Sink, sink in silver light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Wind of the summer night ! 

Where yonder woodbine creepe, 
Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 
Sleeps ! 

Dreams of the summer night ! 

Tell her, her lover keeps 
Watch ! while in slumbers light 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps * 

{Enter Victorian by the balcony^ 
VICTORIAN. 

Poor little dove ! Thou tremblest like a leaf ' 

PRECIOSA. 

I am so frightened ! 'T is for thee I tremble \ 
I hate to have thee climb that wall by night ! 
Did no one see thee ? 

VICTORIAN, 

None, my love, but thou. 

PRECIOSA. 

'T is very dangerous ; and when thou art gone 
I chide myself for letting thee come here 



196 The Spanish Student 

Thus stealthily by night. Where hast thou been ? 
Since yesterday I have no news from thee. 

VICTORIAN. 

Since yesterday I 've been in Alcald. 
Erelong the time will come, sweet Preciosa, 
When that dull distance shall no more divide us ; 
And I no more shall scale thy wall by night 
To steal a kiss from thee, as I do now. 

PRECIOSA. 

An honest thief, to steal but what thou gwest. 

VICTORIAN. 

And we shall sit together unmolested, 

And words of true love pass from tongue to tongue, 

As singing birds from one bough to another. 

PRECIOSA. 

That were a life to make time envious ! 

I knew that thou wouldst come to me to-night. 

I saw thee at the play. 

VICTORIAN. 

Sweet child of air I 
Never did I behold thee so attired 
And garmented in beauty as to-night ! 
What hast thou done to make thee look so fair ? 

PRECIOSA. 

Am I not always fair ? 

VICTORIAN. 

Ay, and so fair 



The Spanish Student 197 

That I am jealous of all eyes that see thee, 
And wish that they were blind. 

PRECIOSA. 

I heed them not j 
When thou art present, I see none but thee ! 

VICTORIAN. 

There 's nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes 
Something from thee, that makes it beautiful. 

PRECIOSA. 

And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books. 

VICTORIAN. 

Thou comest between me and those books too 

often ! 
I see thy face in everything I see ! 
The paintings in the chapel wear thy looks, 
The canticles are changed to sarabands, 
And with the learned doctors of the schools 
I see thee dance cachuchas. 

PRECIOSA. 

In good sooth, 
I dance with learned doctors of the schools 
To-morrow morning. 

VICTORIAN. 

And with whom, I pray ? 

PRECIOSA. 

A grave and reverend Cardinal, and his Grace 
The Archbishop of Toledo. 



198 TJie Spatiish Student 

VICTORIAN. 

What mad jest 
Is this ? 

PRECIOSA. 

It is no jest ; indeed it is not. 

VICTORIAN. 

Prithee, explain thyself. 

PRECIOSA. 

Why, simply thus. 
Thou knowest the Pope has sent here into Spain 
To put a stop to dances on the stage. 

VICTORIAN. 

I h^ve heard it whispered. 

PRECIOSA. 

Now the Cardinal, 
Who for this purpose comes, would fain behold 
With his own eyes these dances ; and the Arch- 
bishop 
Has sent for me — 

VICTORIAN. 

That thou may'st dance before them ! 
Now viva la cachucha ! It will breathe 
The fire of youth into these gray old men ! 
T will be thy proudest conquest ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Saving one. 



The Spanish SttLdcnt 199 



And yet I fear these dances will be stopped, 
And Preciosa be once more a beggar. 

VICTORIAN. 

The sweetest beggar that e'er asked for alms ; 
With such beseeching eyes, that when I saw thee 
I gave my heart away ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Dost thou remember 
When first we met ? 

VICTORIAN. 

It was at Cordova, 
In the cathedral garden. Thou wast sitting 
Under the orange-trees, beside a fountain. 

PRECIOSA. 

'T was Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees 
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy. 
The priests were singing, and the organ sounded. 
And then anon the great cathedral bell. 
It was the elevation of the Host. 
We both of us fell down upon our knees. 
Under the orange boughs, and prayed together. 
I never had been happy till that moment. 



VICTORIAN. 



Thou blessed angel ! 



PRECIOSA. 

And when thou wast gone 
I felt an aching here. I did not speak 



200 The Spanish Student 

To any one that day. But from that day 
Bartolome grew hateful unto me. 

VICTORIAN. 

Remember him no more. Let not his shadow 
Come between thee and me. Sweet Preciosa ! 
I loved thee even then, though I was silent ! 

PRECIOSA. 

I thought I ne'er should see thy face again. 
Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it. 

VICTORIAN. 

That was the first sound in the song of love ! 
Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. 
Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings 
Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, 
And play the prelude of our fate. We hear 
The voice prophetic, and are not alone. 

PRECIOSA. 

That is my faith. Dost thou believe these warn- 
ings? 

VICTORIAN. 

So far as this. Our feelings and our thoughts 
Tend ever on, and rest not in the Present. 
As drops of rain fall into some dark well. 
And from below comes a scarce audible sound, 
So fall our thoughts into the dark Hereafter, 
And their mysterious echo reaches us. 



The Spanish Student 201 

PRECIOSA. 

I have felt it so, but found no words to say it ! 
I cannot reason ; I can only feel ! 
But thou hast language for all thoughts and feel- 
ings. 
Thou art a scholar ; and sometimes I think 
We cannot walk together in this world ! 
The distance that divides us is too great ! 
Henceforth thy pathway lies among the stars ; 
I must not hold thee back. 

VICTORIAN. 

Thou little sceptic ! 
Dost thou still doubt? What I most prize in 

woman 
Is her affections, not her intellect ! 
The intellect is finite ; but the affections 
Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted. 
Compare me with the great men of the earth ; 
What am I ? Why, a pygmy among giants ! 
But if thou lovest, — mark me ! I say lovest. 
The greatest of thy sex excels thee not ! 
The world of the affections is thy world, 
Not that of man's ambition. In that stillness 
Which most becomes a wonian, calm and holy, 
Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart. 
Feeding its flame. The element of fire 
Is pure. It cannot change nor hide its nature, 
But burns as brightly in a Gypsy camp 
As in a palace hall. Art thou convinced ? 



202 The Spanish Student 

PRECIOSA. 

Yes, that I love thee, as the good love heaven ; 
But not that I am worthy of that heaven. 
How shall I more deserve it ? 

VICTORIAN. 

Loving more. 

PRECIOSA. 

I cannot love thee more ; my heart is full. 

VICTORIAN. 

Then let it overflow, and I will drink it, 
As in the summer-time the thirsty sands 
Drink the swift waters of the Manzanares, 
And still do thirst for more. 

A WATCHMAN {in the street). 

Ave Maria 
Purissima ! 'T is midnight and serene ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Hear'st thou that cry ? 

PRECIOSA. 

It is a hateful sound, 
To scare thee from me ! 

VICTORIAN. 

As the hunter's horn 
Doth scare the timid stag, or bark of hounds 
The moor-fowl from his mate. 

PRECIOSA. 

Pray, do not go ! 



The Spanish Student 203 

VICTORIAN. 

[ must away to Alcala to-night. 
Think of me when I am away. 

PRECIOSA. 

Fear not ! 
1 have no thoughts that do not think of thee. 

VICTORIAN {giving her a ring). 

And to remind thee of my love, take this ; 

A serpent, emblem of Eternity ; 

A ruby, — say, a drop of my heart's blood. 

PRECIOSA. 

It is an ancient saying, that the ruby 
Brings gladness to the wearer, and preserves 
The heart pure, and, if laid beneath the pillow. 
Drives away evil dreams. But then, alas ! 
It was a serpent tempted Eve to sin. 

VICTORIAN. 

What convent of barefooted Carmelites 
Taught thee so much theology ? 

PRECIOSA {laying her hand upon his mouth). 

Hush! Hush! 
Good night ! and may all holy angels guard thee ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Good night ! good night ! Thou art my guardian 

angel ! 
I have no other saint than thou to pray to ! 
{He descends by the balcony. ) 



204 The Spanish Student 

PRECIOSA. 

Take care, and do not hurt thee. Art thou safe ? 

VICTORIAN {from the garden). 

Safe as my love for thee ! But art thou safe ? 
Others can cHmb a balcony by moonlight 
As well as I. Pray shut thy window close ; 
I am jealous of the perfumed air of night 
That from this garden climbs to kiss thy lips. 
PRECIOSA [throiuing dozvn her handkerchief). 

Thou silly child ! Take this to blind thine eyes. 
It is my benison ! 

VICTORIAN. 

And brings to me 
Sweet fragrance from thy lips, as the soft wind 
Wafts to the out-bound mariner the breath 
Of the beloved land he leaves behind. 

PRECIOSA. 

Make not thy voyage long. 

VICTORIAN. 

To-morrow night 
Shall see me safe returned. Thou art the star 
To guide me to an anchorage. Good night ! 
My beauteous star ! My star of love, good night ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Good night ! 

WATCHMAN [at a distance). 
Ave Maria Purissima 1 



The Spanish Student 205 

SCENE IV. 

An inn on the road to Alcald. Baltasar asleep on a 
bench. Enter Chispa. 

CHISPA. 

And here we are, half way to Alcala, between 
cocks and midnight. Body o' me ! what an inn 
this is ! The Hghts out, and the landlord asleep. 
Hold, ! ancient Baltasar ! 

BALTASAR {waking). 

Here I am. 

CHISPA. 

Yes, there you are, like a one-eyed Alcalde in 
a town without inhabitants. Bring a light, and 
let me have supper. 

BALTASAR. 

Where is your master ? 

CHISPA. 

Do not trouble yourself about him. We have 
stopped a moment to breathe our horses ; and, 
if he chooses to walk up and down in the open 
air, looking into the sky as one who hears it rain, 
that does not satisfy my hunger, you know. But 
be quick, for I am in a hurry, and every man 
stretches his legs according to the length of his 
coverlet. What have we here ? 



2o6 The Spanish Student 

BALTASAR [setting a light on the table). 
Stewed rabbit. 

CHISPA [eating). 

Conscience of Portalegre ! Stewed kitten, you 
mean ! 

BALTASAR. 

And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes/with a roasted 
pear in it. 

CHISPA [drinking). 

Ancient Baltasar, amigo ! You know how to 
cry wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this is noth- 
ing but Vino Tinto of La Mancha, with a tang 
of the swine-skin. 

BALTASAR. 

I swear to you by Saint Simon and Judas, it is 
all as I say. 

CHISPA. 

And I swear to you by Saint Peter and Saint 
Paul, that it is no such thing. Moreover, your 
tfupper is like the hidalgo's dinner, very little meat 
and a great deal of table-cloth. 

BALTASAR. 

Ha ! ha 1 ha ! 

CHISPA. 

And more noise than nuts. 

BALTASAR. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! You must have your joke, Mas* 



The Spanish Student 207 

ter Chispa. But shall I not ask Don Victorian in, 
to take a draught of the Pedro Ximenes ? 

CHISPA. 

No ; you might as well say, " Don't-you- want- 
some ? " to a dead man. 

BALTASAR. 

Why does he go so often to Madrid ? 

CHISPA. 

For the same reason that he eats no supper. 
He is in love. Were you ever in love, Baltasar ? 

BALTASAR. 

I was never out of it, good Chispa. It has been 
the torment of my life. 

CHISPA. 

What! are you on fire, too, old hay-stack? 
Why, we shall never be able to put you out. 

VICTORIAN {without). 

Chispa ! 

CHISPA. 

Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for the cocks are crow- 
ing. 

VICTORIAN. 

Ea ! Chispa ! Chispa ! 

CHISPA. 

Ea ! Sefior. Come with me, ancient Baltasai, 



2o8 The Spanish Student 

and bring water for the horses. I will pay for the 
supper to-morrow. {Exetmt. 

SCENE V. 

Victorian's chambers at Alcald. Hypolito asleep in an 
arm-chair. He awakes slowly. 

HYPOLITO. 

I must have been asleep ! ay, sound asleep ! 
And it was all a dream. O sleep, sweet sleep ! 
Whatever form thou takest, thou art fair, 
Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled 
Out of Oblivion's well, a healing draught ! 
The candles have burned low ; it must be late. 
Where can Victorian be ? Like Fray Carrillo, 
The only place in which one cannot find him 
Is his own cell. Here 's his guitar, that seldom 
Feels the caresses of its master's hand. 
Open thy silent lips, sweet instrument ! 
And make dull midnight merry with a song. 

{He plays and sings.) 

Padre Francisco ! 
Padre Francisco ! 
What do you want of Padre Francisco? 
Here is a pretty young maiden 
Who wants to confess her sins ! 
Open the door and let her come in, 
I will shrive her from every sin. 

{Enter Victorian.) 



The Spanish Student 209 

VICTORIAN. 

Padre Hypolito ! Padre Hypolito ! 

HYPOLITO. 

What do you want of Padre Hypolito ? 

VICTORIAN. 

Come, shrive me straight j for, if love be a sin, 
I am the greatest sinner that doth live. 
I will confess the sweetest of all crimes, 
A maiden wooed and won. 

HYPOLITO. 

The same old tale 
Of the old woman in the chimney corner. 
Who, while the pot boils, says, " Come here, my 

child ; 
I '11 tell thee a story of my wedding-day." 

VICTORIAN. 

Nay, listen, for my heart is full ; so full 
That I must speak. 

HYPOLITO. 

Alas ! that heart of thine 
Is like a scene in the old play ; the curtain 
Rises to solemn music, and lo ! enter 
The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, thou shouldst say j 
Those that remained, after the siit were burned, 

VOL. IV. N 



210 The Spaiiish Student 

Being held more precious than the nine together. 
But Usten to my tale. Dost thou remember 
The Gypsy girl we saw at Cordova 
Dance the Romalis in the market-place } 

HYPOLITO. 

Thou meanest Preciosa. 

VICTORIAN. 

Ay, the same. 
Thou knowest how her image haunted me 
Long after we returned to Alcala. 
She 's in Madrid. 

HYPOLITO. 

I know it. 



VICT0RIAJ3'. 



And I 'm in love. 



HYPOLITO. 

And therefore in Madrid when thou shouldst be 
In Alcala. 

VICTORIAN. 

O pardon me, my friend, 
If I so long have kept this secret from thee ; 
But silence is the charm that guards such treasures, 
And, if a word be spoken ere the time, 
They sink again, they were not meant for us. 

HYPOLITO. 

Alas ! alas ! I see thou art in love. 



The Spanish Student 211 

Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak. 

It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spaniard 

His mass, his olla, and his Dona Luisa, — 

Thou knowest the proverb. But pray tell me, 

lover, 
How speeds thy wooing } Is the maiden coy .? 
Write her a song, beginning with an Ave ; 
Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin Mary, 

Ave! cujns calcem dare 
Nee centenni commendare 
Sciret Seraph studio ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Pray, do not jest ! This is no time for it ! 
I am in earnest ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Seriously enamored ? 
What, ho ! The Primus of great Alcala 
Enamored of a Gypsy .? Tell me frankly, 
How meanest thou ? 

VICTORIAN. 

I mean it honestly. 

HYPOLITO. 

Surely thou wilt not marry her ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Why not ? 

HYPOLITO. 

She was betrothed to one Bartolomd, 



212 The Spanish Student 

If I remember rightly, a young Gypsy 
Who danced with her at Cordova. 

VICTORIAN. 

They quarrelled, 
And so the matter ended. 

HYPOLITO. 

But in truth 
Thou wilt not marry her. 

VICTORIAN. 

In truth I will. 
The angels sang in heaven when she was born ! 
She is a precious jewel I have found 
Among the filth and rubbish of the world. 
I '11 stoop for it ; but when I wear it here, 
Set on my forehead like the morning star, 
The world may wonder, but it will not laugh. 

HYPOLITO. 

If thou wear'st nothing else upon thy forehead, 
'T will be indeed a wonder. 

VICTORIAN. 

Out upon thee 
With thy unseasonable jests ! Pray tell me, 
Is there no virtue in the world ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Not much. 
What, think'st thou, is she doing at this moment ; 
Now, while we speak of her ? 



f- 



The Spanish Sttident 213 

VICTORIAN. 

She lies asleep, 
And from her parted lips her gentle breath 
Comes like the fragrance from the lips of flowers. 
Her tender limbs are still, and on her breast 
The cross she prayed to, ere she fell asleep. 
Rises and falls with the soft tide of dreams, 
Like a light barge safe moored. 

HYPOLITO. 

Which means, in prose, 
She 's sleeping with her mouth a little open ! 

VICTORIAN. 

O, would I had the old magician's glass 
To see her as she lies in child-like sleep 1 

HYPOLITO. 

And wouldi>t thou venture ? 

VICTORIAN. 

Ay, indeed I would ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Thou art courageous. Hast thou e'er reflected 
How much lies hidden in that one word, 7iow .? 

VICTORIAN. 

Yes ; all the awful mystery of Life ! 

I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito, 

That could we, by some spell of magic, change 

The world and its inhabitants to stone, 

In the same attitudes they now are in, 



214 The Spanish Student 

IVhat fearful glances downward might we cast 

Into the hollow chasms of human life ! 

What groups should we behold about the death-bed, 

Putting to shame the group of Niobe ! 

What joyful welcomes, and what sad farewells ! 

What stony tears in those congealed eyes ! 

What visible joy or anguish in those cheeks ! 

AVhat bridal pomps, and what funereal shows ! 

What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling ! 

What lovers with their marble lips together ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Ay, there it is ! and, if I were in love, 

That is the very point I most should dread. 

This magic glass, these magic spells of thine, 

Might tell a tale were better left untold. 

For instance, they might show us thy fair cousin. 

The Lady Violante, bathed in tears 

Of love and anger, like the maid of Colchis, 

Whom thou, another faithless Argonaut, 

Having won that golden fleece, a woman's love, 

Desertest for this Glauce. 

VICTORIAN. 

Hold thy peace ! 
She cares not for me. She may wed another, 
Or go into a convent, and, thus dying, 
Marry Achilles in the Elysian Fields. 

HYPOLITO {rising). 

A.nd so, good night ! Good morning, I should say. 



-f 

The Spanish Student 21 5 



{Clock strikes three.) 
Hark ! how the loud and ponderous mace of Time 
Knocks at the golden portals of the day ! 
And so, once more, good night! We'll speak 

more largely 
Of Preciosa when we meet again. 
Get thee to bed, and the magician. Sleep, 
Shall show her to thee, in his magic glass, 
In all her loveliness. Good night ! \Exit. 

VICTORIAN. 

Good night ! 
But not to bed ; for I must read awhile. 
{Thrcnvs himself into the arm-chair ivhich Hypolito has left, 
and lays a large book open upon his knees.) 

Must read, or sit in reverie and watch 

The changing color of the waves tnat break 

Upon the idle sea-shore of the mind ! 

Visions of Fame ! that once did visit me. 

Making night glorious with your smile, where are 



ye? 



O, who shall give me, now that ye are gone, 
Juices of those immortal plants that bloom 
Upon Olympus, making us immortal ? 
Or teach me where that wondrous mandrake grows 
Whose magic root, torn from the earth with groans, 
At midnight hour, can scare the fiends away, 
And make the mind prolific in its fancies ? 
I have the wish, but want the will, to act ! 



2i6 The Spanish Student 

Souls of great men departed ! Ye whose words 

Have come to light from the swift river of Time, 

Like Roman swords found in the Tagus' bed, 

Where is the strength to wield the arms ye bore ? 

From the barred visor of Antiquity 

Reflected shines the eternal light of Truth, 

As from a mirror ! All the means of action — 

The shapeless masses, the materials — 

Lie everywhere about us. What we need 

Is the celestial fire to change the flint 

Into transparent crystal, bright and clear. 

That fire is genius ! The rude peasant sits 

At evening in his smoky cot, and draws 

With charcoal uncouth figures on the wall. 

The son of genius comes, foot-sore with travel, 

And begs a shelter from the inclement night. 

He takes the charcoal from the peasant's hand, 

And, by the magic of his touch at once 

Transfigured, all its hidden virtues shine. 

And, in the eyes of the astonished clown, 

It gleams a diamond ! Even thus transformed. 

Rude popular traditions and old tales 

Shine as immortal poems, at the touch 

Of some poor, houseless, homeless, wandering bard, 

Who had but a night's lodging for his pains. 

But there are brighter dreams than those of Fame, 

Which are the dreams of Love ! Out of the heart 

Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, 

As from some woodland fount a spirit rises 



The Spanish Student 217 

And sinks again into its silent deeps, 
Ere the enamored knight can touch her robe ! 
'T is this ideal that the soul of man, 
Like the enamored knight beside the fountain, 
Waits for upon the margin of Life's stream ; 
Waits to behold her rise from the dark waters, 
Clad in a mortal shape ! Alas ! how many 
Must wait in vain ! The stream flows evermore, 
But from its silent deeps no spirit rises ! 
Yet I, born under a propitious star, 
Have found the bright ideal of my dreams. 
Yes ! she is ever with me. I can feel, 
Here, as I sit at midnight and alone, 
Her gentle breathing ! on my breast can feel 
The pressure of her head ! God's benison 
Rest ever on it ! Close those beauteous eyes, 
[ Sweet Sleep ! and all the flowers that bloom at 

night 

(With balmy lips breathe in her ears my name ! 
{Gradually sinks asleep.) 



2i8 The Spanish Student 



ACT II. 

SCENE I, Preciosa's chamber. Morning. Preciosa an^ 
Angelica. 

PRECIOSA. 

WHY will you go so soon ? Stay yet awhile. 
The poor too often turn away unheard 
From hearts that shut against them with a sound 
That will be heard in heaven. Pray, tell me more 
Of your adversities. Keep nothing from me. 
What is your landlord's name ? 

ANGELICA. 

The Count of Lara. 

PRECIOSA. 

The Count of Lara ? O, beware that man ! 
Mistrust his pity, — hold no parley with him ! 
And rather die an outcast in the streets 
Than touch his gold. 

ANGELICA. 

You know him, then ! 

PRECIOSA. 

As much 
As any woman may, and yet be pure. 
As you would keep your name without a blemish. 
Beware of him 1 



T'te Spanish Student 219 

ANGELICA. 

Alas ! what can 1 do ? 
I cannot choose my friends. Each word of kind- 
ness, 
Come whence it may, is welcome to the poor. 

PRECIOSA. 

Make me your friend. A girl so young and fair 
Should have no friends but those of her own sex. 
What is your name ? 

ANGELICA. 

Angelica. 

PRECIOSA. 

That name 
Was given you, that you might be an angel 
To her who bore you ! When your infant smile 
Made her home Paradise, you were her angel. 
O, be an angel still ! She needs that smile. 
So long as you are innocent, fear nothing. 
No one can harm you ! I am a poor girl, 
Whom chance has taken from the public street 
I have no other shield than mine own virtue. 
That is the charm which has protected me ! 
Amid a thousand perils, I have worn it 
Here on my heart ! It is my guardian ang^l. 

ANGELICA {rismg). 

I thank you for this counsel, dearest lady. 



220 The Spanish Student 

PRECIOSA. 

Thank me by following it. 

ANGELICA. 

Indeed I will. 

PRECIOSA. 

^ray, do not go. I have much more to say. 

ANGELICA. 

My mother is alone. I dare not leave her. 

PRECIOSA. 

Some other time, then, when we meet again. 
You must not go away with words alone 
( Gives her a purse. ) 

Take this. Would it were more. 

ANGELICA. 

I thank you, lady 

PRECIOSA. 

No thanks. To-morrow come to me again. 
I dance to-night, — perhaps for the last time. 
But what I gain, I promise shall be yours. 
If that can save you from the Count of Lara. 

ANGELICA. 

O, my dear lady ! how shall I be grateful 
For so much kindness ? 

PRECIOSA. 

I deserve no thanks. 
Thank Heaven, not me. 



The Spanish Student 221 

ANGELICA. 

Both Heaven and you. 

PRECIOSA. 

Farewell. 
Remember that you come again to-morrow. 

ANGELICA. 

I will. And may the Blessed Virgin guard you, 
And all good angels. \Exit 

PRECIOSA. 

May they guard thee too, 
And all ihe poor ; for they have need of angels. 
Now bring me, dear Dolores, my basquina. 
My richest maja dress, — my dancing dress. 
And my most precious jewels ! Make me look 
Fairer than night e'er saw me ! I Ve a prize 
To win this day, worthy of Preciosa ! 
{Enter Beltran Cruzado.) 

CRUZADO. 



Ave Maria ! 




PRECIOSA. 




God ! my evil genius ! 




What seekest thou here to-day ? 




CRUZADO. 




Thyself, - 


-my child 


PRECIOSA. 




What is thy will with me ? 





222 The Spanish Student 

CRUZADO. 

Gold! gold! 

PRECIOSA. 

I gave thee yesterday ; I have no more. 

CRUZADO. 

The gold of the Busne, — give me his gold ! 

PRECIOSA. 

I gave the last in charity to-day. 

CRUZADO. 

That is a foolish lie. 

PRECIOSA. 

It is the truth. 

CRUZADO. 

Curses upon thee ! Thou art not my child ! 
Hast thou given gold away, and not to me ? 
Not to thy father ? To whom, then t 

PRECIOSA. 

To one 
Who needs it more. 

CRUZADO. 

No one can need it more. 

PRECIOSA. 

Thou art not poor. 

CRUZADO. 

What, I, who lurk about 
Ip- dismal suburbs and unwholesome lanes j 



The Spanish Student 223 

I, who am housed worse than the galley slave ; 
I, who am fed worse than the kennelled hound ; 
I, who am clothed in rags, — Beltran Cruzado, — 
Not poor ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands. 
Thou canst supply thy wants ^ what wouldst thou 
more? 

CRUZADO. 

The gold of the Busne ! give me his gold ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Beltran Cruzado ! hear me once for all. 
I speak the truth. So long as I had gold, 
I gave it to thee freely, at all times. 
Never denied thee ; never had a wish 
But to fulfil thine own. Now go in peace 1 
Be merciful, be patient, and erelong 
Thou shalt have more. 

CRUZADO. 

And if I have it not, 
Thou shalt no longer dwell here in rich chambers, 
Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty food, 
And live in idleness ; but go with me. 
Dance the Romalis in the public streets. 
And wander wild again o'er field and fell ; 
For here we stay not long. 

PRECIOSA. 

What \ march again } 



224 1^^^ Spanish Student 

CRUZADO. 

Ay, with all speed. I hate the crowded town ! 
I cannot breathe shut up within its gates ! 
Air, — I want air, and sunshine, and blue sky. 
The feeling of the breeze upon my face. 
The feeling of the turf beneath my feet. 
And no walls but the far-off mountain-tops. 
Then I am free and strong, — once more myself, 
Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales ! 

PRECIOSA. 

God speed thee on thy march ! — I cannot go. 

CRUZADO. 

Remember who I am, and who thou art ! 
Be silent and obey ! Yet one thing more. 
Bartolome Roman 

PRECIOSA {%vith emotion). 

O, I beseech thee ! 
If my obedience and blameless life, 
If my humility and meek submission 
In all things hitherto, can move in thee 
One feeling of compassion ; if thou art 
Indeed my father, and canst trace in me 
One look of her who bore me, or one tone 
That doth remind thee of her, let it plead 
In my behalf, who am a feeble girl. 
Too feeble to resist, and do not force me 
To wed that man ! I am afraid of him 1 



The Spanish SUident 225 

I do not love him ! On my knees I beg thee 
To use no violence, nor do in haste 
What cannot be undone ! 

CRUZADO. 

O child, child, child ! 
Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird 
Betrays her nest, by striving to conceal it. 
I will not leave thee here in the great city 
To be a grandee's mistress. Make thee ready 
To go with us ; and until then remember 
A watchful eye is on thee. t^-^^^- 

PRECIOSA. 

Woe is me ! 
I have a strange misgiving in my heart ! 
But that one deed of charity I '11 do, 
Befall what may ; they cannot take that from me. 

{^Exit. 

SCENE II. 

A room in the Archbishop's Palace. The Archbishop 
and a Cardinal seated. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Knowing how near it touched the public morals, 
And that our age is grown corrupt and rotten 
By such excesses, we have sent to Rome, 
Beseeching that his Holiness would aid 
In curing the gross surfeit of the time, 



226 The Spanish Student 

By seasonable stop put here in Spain 

To bull-fights and lewd dances on the stage. 

All this you know. 

CARDINAL. 

Know and approve. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

And farther, 
That, by a mandate from his Holiness, 
The first have been suppressed. 

CARDINAL. 

I trust forever, 
It was a cruel sport. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

A barbarous pastime, 
Disgraceful to the land that calls itself 
Most Catholic and Christian. 

CARDINAL. 

Yet the people 
Murmur at this ; and, if the public dances 
Should be condemned upon too slight occasion, 
Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure. 
As Fanem et Circenses was the cry 
Among the Roman populace of old, 
So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain. 
Hence I would act advisedly herein ; 
And therefore have induced your grace to see 
These national dances, ere we interdict them. 
{Enter a Servant. ) 



The Spanish Student 227 

SERVANT. 

The dancing-girl, and with her the musicians 
Your grace was pleased to order, wait without. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold 
In what angelic yet voluptuous shape 
The Devil came to tempt Saint Anthony. 

{Enter Preciosa, with a mantle thrown over her head. Sh^ 
advances slowly, in a modest, half-ti7nid attitude. ) 

CARDINAL {aside). 

O, what a fair and ministering angel 

Was lost to heaven when this sweet woman fell ! 

PRECIOSA {kneeling before the KKCnvA'Anov). 

I have obeyed the order of your grace. 
If I intrude upon your better hours, 
I proffer this excuse, and here beseech 
Your holy benediction. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

May God bless thee, 
And lead thee to a better life. Arise. 

CARDINAL {aside). 

Her acts are modest, and her words discreet ! 
I did not look for this ! Come hither, child. 
Is thy name Preciosa ? 

PRECIOSA. 

Thus I am called. 



228 The Spanish Student 

CARDINAL. 

That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy father ? 

PRECIOSA. 

Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

I have a dim remembrance of that man ; 
He was a bold and reckless character, 
A sun-burnt Ishmael ! 

CARDINAL. 

Dost thou remember 
Thy earlier days ? 

PRECIOSA. 

Yes ; by the Darro's side 
My childhood passed. I can remember still 
The river, and the mountains capped with snow \ 
The villages, where, yet a little child, 
I told the traveller's fortune in the street ; 
The smuggler's horse, the brigand and the shep- 
herd ; 
The march across the moor ; the halt at noon ; 
The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted 
The forest where we slept ; and, farther back, 
As in a dream or in some former life, 
Gardens and palace walls. 

ARCHBISHOP. 

'T is the Alhambra, 



The Spanish StiLdent 22\j 

Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched. 
But the time wears ; and we would see thee dance. 

PRECIOSA. 

Your grace shall be obeyed. 

{She lays aside her vianiilla. The jniisic of the cachucha is 
played, and the dance begins. The Archbishop and the 
Cardinal look on with gravity and an occasional from n ; 
then make signs to each other ; and, as the dance continues, 
hecoTue more and moj'e pleased and excited ; and at length 
rise from their seats, throw their caps in the air, and ap- 
plaud vehemently as the scene closes. ) 



SCENE III. 

77/1? Prado. A long avenue of trees leading to the gate of A to- 
cha. On the right the dome and spires of a convent. A 
fountain. Evening. Don Carlos and Hypolito meet- 
ing. 

DON CARLOS. 

Hola ! good evening, Don Hypolito. 

hypolito. 
And a good evening to my friend, Don Carlos. 
Some lucky star has led my steps this way. 
I was in search of you. 

DON CARLOS. 

Command me always, 

HYPOLITO. 

Do you remember, in Quevedo's Dreams, 



230 The SpaiiisJi SUideni 

The miser, who, upon the Day of Judgment, 
Asks if his money-bags would rise ? 



But what of that ? 


DON CARLOS. 

I do; 


] 


HYPOLITO. 


\ 


I am that wretched man 



DON CARLOS. 

You mean to tell me yours have risen empty? 

HYPOLITO. 

And amen ! said my Cid the Campeador. 

DON CARLOS. 

Pray, how much need you ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Some half-dozen ounces 
Which, with due interest 

DON CARLOS {giving his purse). 

What, am I a Jew 
To put my moneys out at usury ? 
Here is my purse. 

HYPOLITO. 

Thank you. A pretty purse, 
Made by the hand of some fair Madrilena ; 
perhaps a keepsake. 

DON CARLOS. 

No, 't is at your service. 



The Spanish Student 231 \ 



HYPOLITO. 

Thank you again. Lie there, good Chrysostom, 
And with thy golden mouth remind me often, 
I am the debtor of my friend. 

DON CARLOS. 

But tell me, 
Come you to-day from Alcala ? 

HYPOLITO. 

This moment. 

DON CARLOS. 

And pray, how fares the brave Victorian ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Indifferent well ; that is to say, not well. 
A damsel has ensnared him with the glances 
Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen catch 
A steer of Andalusia with a lazo. 
He is in love. 

DON CARLOS. 

And is it faring ill 
To be in love ? 

HYPOLITO. 

In his case very ill. 

DON CARLOS. 

Why so ? 

HYPOLITO. 

For many reasons. First and foremost. 



232 The Spanish Student 

Because he is in love with an ideal ; 
A creature of his own imagination ; 
A child of air ; an echo of his heart ; 
And, like a lily on a river floating, 
She floats upon the river of his thoughts ! 

DON CARLOS. 

A common thing with poets. But who is 
This floating lily ? For, in fine, some woman, 
Some living woman, — not a mere ideal, — 
Must wear the outward semblance of his thought. 
Who is it ? Tell me. 

HYPOLITO. 

Well, it is a woman ! 
But, look you, from the cofter of his heart 
He brings forth precious jewels to adorn her, 
As pious priests adorn some favorite saint 
With gems and gold, until at length she gleams 
One blaze of glory. Without these, you know, 
And the priest's benediction, 't is a doll. 

DON CARLOS. 

Well, well ! who is this doll ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Why, who do you think ? 

DON CARLOS. 

His cousin Violante. 

HYPOLITO. 

Guess again. 



The Spanish Student 233 

To ease his laboring heart, in the last storm 
He threw her overboard, with all her ingots. 

DON CARLOS. 

I cannot guess ; so tell me who it is. 

HYPOLITO. 

Not I. 

DON CARLOS. 

Why not ? 

HYPOLITO {mysteriously). 

Why? Because Mari Franca 
Was married four leagues out of Salamanca ! 

DON CARLOS. 

Jesting aside, who is it ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Preciosa. 

DON CARLOS. 

Impossible ! The Count of Lara tells me 
She is not virtuous. 

HYPOLITO. 

Did I say she was ? 
The Roman Emperor Claudius had a wife 
Whose name was Messalina, as I think ; 
Valeria Messalina was her name. 
But hist ! I see him yonder through the trees, 
Walking as in a dream. 

DON CARLOS. , 

He comes this way. 



234 '^^^^ Spanish Student 

HYPOLITO. 

It has been truly said by some wise man, 
That money, grief, and love cannot be hidden. 
{Enter NiQ.TO'SAKi^ in front.) 

VICTORIAN. 

Where'er thy step has passed is holy ground ! 
These groves are sacred ! I behold thee walking 
Under these shadowy trees, where we have walked 
At evening, and I feel thy presence now ; 
Feel that the place has taken a charm from thee, 
And is forever hallowed. 

HYPOLITO. 

Mark him well ! 
See how he strides away with lordly air, 
Like that odd guest of stone, that grim Commander 
Who comes to sup with Juan in the play. 

DON CARLOS. 

What ho ! Victorian ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Wilt thou sup with us ? 

VICTORIAN. 

Hola ! amigos ! Faith, I did not see you. 
How fares Don Carlos ? 

DON CARLOS. 

At your service ever. 



The Spanish Student 235 

VICTORIAN. 

How is that young and green-eyed Gaditana 
That you both wot of? 

DON CARLOS. 

Ay, soft, emerald eyes ! 
She has gone back to Cadiz. 

HYPOLITO. 

Ay de mi ! 

VICTORIAN. 

You are much to blame for letting her go back. 
A pretty girl ; and in her tender eyes 
Just that soft shade of green we sometimes see 
In evening skies. 

HYPOLITO. 

But, speaking of green eyes. 



Are thine green ? 



VICTORIAN. 

Not a whit. Why so ? 

HYPOLITO. 



The slightest shade of green would be becomin 
For thou art jealous. 

VICTORIAN. 

No, I am not jealous. 

HYPOLITO. 

Thou shouldst be. 



I think S 



236 The Spanish Sttideftt 

VICTORIAN. 

Why? 

HYPOLITO. 

Because thou art in love. 
And they who are in love are always jealous. 
Therefore thou shouldst be. 

VICTORIAN. 

Marry, is that all ? 
Farewell ; I am in haste. Farewell, Don Carlos. 
Thou sayest 1 should be jealous ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Ay, in truth 
I fear there is reason. Be upon thy guard. 
I hear it whispered that the Count of Lara 
Lays siege to the same citadel. 

VICTORIAN. 

Indeed ! 
Then he will have his labor for his pains. 

HYPOLITO. 

He does not think so, and Don Carlos tells me 
He boasts of his success. 

VICTORIAN. 

How 's this, Don Carltx? .^ 

DON CARLOS. 

Some hints of it I heard from his own lips. 
He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue^ 
As a gay man might speak. 



The Spanish Student 237 

VICTORIAN. 

Death and damnation ! 
I '11 cut his lying tongue out of his mouth, 
And throw it to my dog 1 But no, no, no ! 
This cannot be. You jest, indeed you jest. 
Trifle with me no more. For otherwise 
We are no longer friends. And so, farewell ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Now what a coil is here ! The Avenging Child 

Hunting the traitor Quadros to his death. 

And the great Moor Calaynos, when he rode 

To Paris for the ears of Oliver, 

Were nothing to him ! O hot-headed youth ! 

But come ; we will not follow. Let us join 

The crowd that pours into the Prado. There 

We shall find merrier company ; I see 

The Marialonzos and the Almavivas, 

And fifty fans, that beckon me already. {^Exeunt. 



SCENE IV. 

Preciosa's chamber. She is sittmg, luith a book in her hand, 
near a table, on which are flowers. A bird singing in ih 
cage. The Count of Lara enters behind iinpcrccived. 

PRECIOSA {reads). 
All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 



238 The Spanish Student 

Heigho ! I wish Victorian were here. 

I know not what it is makes me so restless ! 

( The bird sings. ) 

Thou little prisoner with thy motley coat, 
That from thy vaulted, wiry dungeon singest, 
Like thee I am a captive, and, like thee, 
I have a gentle jailer. Lack-a-day ! 

All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 
All this throbbing, all this aching, 
Evennore shall keep thee waking, 
For a heart in sorrow breaking 
Thinketh ever of its smart ! 

Thou speakest truly, poet ! and methinks 
More hearts are breaking in this world of ours 
Than one would say. In distant villages 
And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted 
The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage 
Scattered them in their flight, do they take root, 
And grow in silence, and in silence perish. 
Who hears the falling of the forest leaf ? 
Or who takes note of every flower that dies ? 
Heigho ! I wish Victorian would come. 
Dolores ! 

{Turns to lay dmvn her book, and perceives the CoUNT.) 

Ha! 

LARA. 

Senora, pardon me ! 



The Spanish Student 239 

PRECIOSA. 

How 's this ? Dolores ! 

LARA. 

Pardon me 

PRECIOSA. 

Dolores ! 

LARA. 

Be not alarmed ; I found no one in waiting. 
If I have been too bold 

PRECIOSA {turning her back Jtpon him). 

You are too bold ! 
Retire ! retire, and leave me ! 

LARA. 

My dear lady. 
First hear me ! I beseech you, let me speak ! 
'T is for your good I come. 

PRECOSIA {turning toward him zuith ijtdignation). 

Begone ! Begone ! 
You are the Count of Lara, but your deeds 
Would make the statues of your ancestors 
Blush on their tombs ! Is it Castilian honor, 
Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here 
Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong ? 
O shame ! shame ! shame ! that you, a nobleman, 
Should be so little noble in your thoughts 
As to send jewels here to win my love. 
And think to buy my honor with your gold ! 



240 The Spanish Student 

I have no words to tell you how I scorn you ! 
Begone ! The sight of you is hateful to me ! 
Begone, I say ! 

LARA. 

Be calm ; I will not harm you. 

PRECIOSA. 

Because you dare not. 

LARA. 

I dare anything ! 
Therefore beware ! You are deceived in me. 
In this false world, we do not always know 
Who are our friends and who our enemies. 
We all have enemies, and all need friends. 
Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court 
Have foes, who seek to wrong you. 

PRECIOSA. 

If to this 
I owe the honor of the present visit, 
You might have spared the coming. Having 

spoken, 
Once more I beg you, leave me to myself. 

LARA. 

I thought it but a friendly part to tell you 
What strange reports are current here in town. 
For my own self, I do not credit them ; 
But there are many who, not knowing you, 
Will lend a readier ear. 



The Spanish Student 241 

PRECIOSA. 

There was no need 
That you should take upon yourself the duty 
Of telling me these tales. 

LARA. 

Malicious tongues 
Are ever busy with your name. 

PRECIOSA. 

Alas I 
I Ve no protectors. I am a poor girl, 
Exposed to insults and unfeeling jests. 
They wound me, yet I cannot shield myself. 
I give no cause for these reports. I live 
Retired ; am visited by none. 

LARA. 

By none ? 
O, then, indeed, you are much wronged ! 

PRECIOSA. 

How mean you ? 

LARA. 

Nay, nay \ I will not wound your gentle soul 
By the report of idle tales. 

PRECIOSA. 

Speak out ! 
What are these idle tales ? You need not spare 
me. 



242 The Spanish Student 

LARA. 

I will deal frankly with you. Pardon me ; 

This window, as I think, looks toward the street. 

And this into the Prado, does it not ? 

In yon high house, beyond the garden wall, — 

You see the roof there just above the trees, — 

There lives a friend, who told me yesterday, 

That on a certain night, — be not offended 

If I too plainly speak, — he saw a man 

Climb to your chamber window. You are silent ! 

I would not blame you, being young and foir • 

IHe tries to embrace her. She starts back, and dra'd's a dagget 
from her bosoju.) 

PRECIOSA. 
Beware ! beware ! I am a Gypsy girl ! 
Lay not your hand upon me. One step nearer 
And I will strike 1 

LARA. 

Pray you, put up that dagger. 
Fear not. 

PRECIOSA. 

I do not fear. I have a heart 
In whose strength I can trust. 

LARA. 

Listen to me. 
I come here as your friend, — I am your friend, — - 
And by a single word can put a stop 
To all those idle tales, and make your name 



The Spanish SUident 243 

Spotless as lilies are. Here on my knees, 
P^air Preciosa ! on my knees I swear, 
I love you even to madness, and that love 
Has driven me to break the rules of custom, 
And force myself unasked into your presence. 
(VICTORIAN etiters beJmid.) 
PRECIOSA. 

Rise, Count of Lara ! That is not the place 
For such as you are. It becomes you not 
To kneel before me. I am strangely moved 
To see one of your rank thus low and humbled; 
For your sake I will put aside all anger, 
All unkind feeling, all dislike, and speak 
In gentleness, as most becomes a woman. 
And as my heart now prompts me. I no more 
Will hate you, for all hate is painful to me. 
But if, without offending modesty 
And that reserve which is a woman's glory, 
I may speak freely, I will teach my heart 
To love you. 

LARA. 

O sweet angel ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Ay, in truth, 
Far better than you love yourself or me. 

LARA. 

Give me some sign of this, — the slightest token. 
Let me but kiss your hand ! 



244 ^-^^ Spanish Student 

PRECIOSA. 

Nay, come no nearer. 
The words I utter are its sign and token. 
Misunderstand me not ! Be not deceived ! 
The love wherewith I love you is not such 
As you would offer me. For you come here 
To take from me the only thing I have, 
My honor. You are wealthy, you have friends 
And kindred, and a thousand pleasant hopes 
That fill your heart with happiness ; but I 
Am poor, and friendless, having but one treasure, 
And you would take that from me, and for what ? 
To flatter your own vanity, and make me 
What you would most despise. O Sir, such love, 
That seeks to harm me, cannot be true love. 
Indeed it cannot. But my love for you 
Is of a different kind. It seeks your good. 
It is a holier feeling. It rebukes 
Your earthly passion, your unchaste desires, 
And bids you look into your heart, and see 
How you do wrong that better nature in you, 
And grieve your soul with sin. 

LARA. 

I swear to you, 
I would not harm you ; I would only love you. 
I would not take your honor, but restore it. 
And in return I ask but some slight mark 
Of your affection. If indeed you love me. 



The Spanish Student 245 

As you confess you do, O let me thus 
With this embrace 

VICTORIAN {ncshijig fo-zvard). 

Hold ! hold ! This is too much. 
What means this outrage ? 

LARA. 

First, what right have you 
To question thus a nobleman of Spain ? 

VICTORIAN. 

I too am noble, and you are no more ! 
Out of my sight ! 

LARA. 

Are you the master here t 

VICTORIAN. 

Ay, here and elsewhere, when the wrong of others 
Gives me the right ! 

PRECIOSA {to LARA). 

Go ! I beseech you, go ! 

VICTORIAN. 

I shall have business with you. Count, anon ! 

LARA. 

You cannot come too soon ! \Exit, 

PRECIOSA. 

Victorian ! 
O we have been betrayed ! 



246 The Spanish Student 

VICTORIAN. 

Ha ! ha ! betrayed ! 
'T is I have been betrayed, not we ! — not we ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Dost thou imagine 

VICTORIAN. 

I imagine nothing > 
I see how 't is thou whilest the time away 
When I am gone ! 

PRECIOSA. 

O speak not in that tone ! 
It wounds me deeply. 

VICTORIAN. 

'T was not meant to flatter. 

PRECIOSA. 

Too well thou knowest the presence of that man 
Is hateful to me ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Yet I saw thee stand 
And listen to him, when he told his love. 

PRECIOSA. 

I did not heed his words. 

VICTORIAN. 

Indeed thou didst, 
A-nd answeredst them with love. 



The Spanish Student 247 



I heard enough. 



PRECIOSA. 

Hadst thou heard all 

VICTORIAN. 
PRECIOSA. 

Be not so angry with me. 



VICTORIAN. 

I am not angry ; I am very calm. 

PRECIOSA. 

If thou wilt let me speak • 

VICTORIAN. 

Nay, say no more. 
T know too much already. Thou art false ! 
I do not like these Gypsy marriages ! 
^Vhere is the ring I gave thee ? 

PRECIOSA. 

In my casket. 

VICTORIAN. 

There let it rest ! I would not have thee wear it : 
I thought thee spotless, and thou art polluted ! 

PRECIOSA. 

I call the Heavens to witness 



VICTORIAN. 

Nay, nay, nay ! 
Take not the name of Heaven upon thy lips ! 
They are forsworn ! 



248 The Spanish Student 

PRECIOSA. 

Victorian ! dear Victoria*^ ^ 

VICTORIAN. 

I gave up all for thee ; myself, my fame, 
My hopes of fortune, ay, my very soul ! 
And thou hast been my ruin ! Now, go on ! 
Laugh at my folly with thy paramour, 
And, sitting on the Count of Lara's knee, 
Say what a poor, fond fool Victorian was ! 
{He casts her from him and rushes out. ) 

PRECIOSA. 

And this from thee ! 

{Scene closes.) 



SCENE V. 
The Count of Lara's rooms. Enter the Count. 

LARA. 

There 's nothing in this world so sweet as love, 
And next to love the sweetest thing is hate ! 
I Ve learned to hate, and therefore am revenged. 
A silly girl to play the prude with me ! 

The fire that I have kindled 

{Enter Francisco.) 

Well, Francisco, 



What tidings from Don Juan ? 



The Spanish Student 249 

FRANCISCO. 

Good, P^y lord ; 
He will be present. 

LARA. 

And the Duke of Lermos "> 



Was not at home. 



FRANCISCO. 
LARA. 

How with the rest } 



FRANCISCO. 

I 've found 
The men you wanted. They will all be there, 
And at the given signal raise a whirlwind 
Of such discordant noises, that the dance 
Must cease for lack of music. 

LARA. 

Bravely done. 
Ah ! little dost thou dream, sweet Preciosa, 
What lies in wait for thee. Sleep shall not close 
Thine eyes this night ! Give me my cloak and 
sword. \_Exeiint. 



SCENE VI. 

A retired spot beyond the city gates. Enter Victorian and 
Hypolito. 

VICTORIAN. 

O shame ! O shame ! Why do I walk abroad 



250 The Spanish Student 

By daylight, when the very sunshine mocks me, 
And voices, and famihar sights and sounds 
Cry, " Hide thyself ! " O what a thin partition 
Doth shut out from the curious world the knowl- 
edge 
Of evil deeds that have been done in darkness ! 
Disgrace has many tongues. My fears are win- 
dows. 
Through which all eyes seem gazing. Every face 
Expresses some suspicion of my shame, 
And in derision seems to smile at me ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Did I not caution thee ? Did I not tell thee 
I was but half persuaded of her virtue ? 

VICTORIAN. 

And yet, Hypolito, we may be wrong, 
We may be over-hasty in condemning ! 
The Count of Lara is a cursed villain. 

HYPOLITO. 

And therefore is she cursed, loving him. 

VICTORIAN. 

She does not love him ! 'T is for gold ! for gold ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Ay, but remember, in the public streets 

He shows a golden ring the Gypsy gave him, 

A serpent with a ruby in its mouth. 



The Spanish Student 251 

VICTORIAN. 

She had that ring from me ! God ! she is false ! 
But I will be revenged ! The hour is passed. 
Where stays the coward ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Nay, he is no coward ; 
A villain, if thou wilt, but not a coward. 
I Ve seen him play with swords ; it is his pastime. 
And therefore be not over-confident. 
He '11 task thy skill anon. Look, here he comes. 
{Enter Lara, followed by Francisco. ) 

LARA. 

Good evening, gentlemen. 

HYPOLITO. 

Good evening, Count. 

LARA. 

I trust I have not kept you long in waiting. 

VICTORIAN. 

Not long, and yet too long. Are you prepared .? 

LARA. 

I am. 

HYPOLITO. 

It grieves me much to see this quarrel 
Between you, gentlemen. Ls there no way 
Left open to accord this difference. 
But you must make one with your swords ? 



252 The Spanish Student 

VICTORIAN. 

No ! none » 
I do entreat thee, dear Hypolito, 
Stand not between me and my foe. Too long 
Our tongues have spoken. Let these tongues of 

steel 
End our debate. Upon your guard, Sir Count ! 

( They fight. Victorian disarms the Count.) 

Your life is mine ; and what shall now withhold me 
From sending your vile soul to its account ? 

LARA. 

Strike ! strike ! 

VICTORIAN. 

You are disarmed. I will not kill you, 
I will not murder you. Take up your sword. 

(F'rancisco hands the Count his sword, and Hypolito 
interposes. ) 

HYPOLITO. 

Enough ! Let it end here ! The Count of Lara 
Has shown himself a brave man, and Victorian 
A generous one, as ever. Now be friends. 
Put up your swords ; for, to speak frankly to you, 
Your cause of quarrel is too slight a thing 
To move you to extremes. 

LARA. 

I am content. 



The Spanish Student 253 

I sought no quarrel. A few hasty words. 
Spoken in the heat of blood, have led to this. 

VICTORIAN. 

Nay, something more than that. 

LARA. 

I understand you. 
Therein 1 did not mean to cross your path. 
To me the door stood open, as to others. 
But, had I known the girl belonged to you. 
Never would I have sought to win her from you. 
The truth stands now revealed ; she has been false 
To both of us. 

VICTORIAN. 

Ay, false as hell itself! 

LARA. 

In truth, I did not seek her j she sought me ; 
And told me how to win her, telling me 
The hours when she was oftenest left alone. 

VICTORIAN. 

Say, can you prove this to me ? O, pluck out 
These awful doubts, that goad me into madness ! 
Let me know all ! all ! all ! 

LARA. 

You shall know all. 
Here is my page, who was the messenger 
Between us. Question him. Was it not so, 
Francisco t 



254 ^^^^ Spajiish Student 

FRANCISCO. 

Ay, my lord. 

LARA. 

If farther proof 
Is needful, I have here a ring she gave me. 

VICTORIAN. 

Pray let me see that ring ! It is the same ! 

[Throws it upon the ground^ and tramples upon it.) 
Thus may she perish who once wore that ring ! 
Thus do I spurn her from me ; do thus trample 
Her memory in the dust ! O Count of Lara, 
We both have been abused, been much abused ! 
I thank you for your courtesy and frankness. 
Though, like the surgeon's hand, yours gave me 

pain, 
Yet it has cured my blindness, and I thank you. 
I now can see the folly I have done. 
Though 't is, alas ! too late. So fare you well ! 
To-night I leave this hateful town forever. 
Regard me as your friend. Once more, farewell ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Farewell, Sir Count. 

{Exeunt Victorian and Hypolito. 

LARA. 

Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! 
Thus have I cleared the field of my worst foe ! 



The Spanish Student 255 

I have none else to fear ; the fight is done, 
The citadel is stormed, the victory won ! 

{Exit with Francisco. 



SCENE VII. 

A lane in the snhnrbs. Night. Enter Cruzado and 
Bartolome. 

CRUZADO. 

And so, Bartolome, the expedition fliiled. But 
where wast thou for the most part ? 

bartolome. 

In the Guadarrama mountains, near San Ilde- 
fonso. 

cruzado. 

And thou bringest nothing back with thee? 
Didst thou rob no one ? 

bartolome. 
There was no one to rob, save a party of stu- 
dents from Segovia, who looked as if they would 
rob us ; and a jolly little friar, who had nothing in 
his pockets but a missal and a loaf of bread. 

CRUZADO. 

Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid ? 

BARTOLOME. 

First tell me what keeps thee here } 



256 The Spanish Student 

CRU2AD0. 

Preciosa. 

BARTOLOME. 

And she brings me back. Hast thou forgotten 
thy promise ? 

CRUZADO. 

The two years are not passed yet. Wait pa- 
tiently. The girl shall be thine, 

BARTOLOME. 

I hear she has a Busne lover. 

CRUZADO. 

That is nothing. 

BARTOLOME. 

I do not like it. I hate him, — the son of a 
Busne harlot. He goes in and out, and speaks 
with her alone, and I must stand aside, and wait 
his pleasure. 

CRUZADO. 

Be patient, I say. Thou shalt have thy revenge. 
When the time comes, thou shalt waylay him. 

BARTOLOME. 

Meanwhile, show me her house. 

CRUZADO. 

Come this way. But thou wilt not find her. 
She dances at the play to-night. 

bartolom:^. 
No matter. Show me the house. [Exeunt. 



The St>aiiish Student 257 



SCENE VIII. 

The Theatre. The orchestra plays the cachiicha. Sound of 
castanets behind the scenes. The curtain rises, and discovers 
Preciosa in the attitude of commencing the dance. The 
cachucha. Tumult; hisses; cries of ^'■Brava !" and ^^Afu- 
era ! " She falters and pauses. The music stops. General 
confitsion. VKEClOSPi. faints. 



SCENE IX. 

The Count of Lara's chambers. Lara and his friends at 

supper. 

LARA. 

So, Caballeros, once more many thanks ! 
You have stood by me bravely in this matter. 
Pray fill your glasses. 

DON JUAN. 

Did you mark, Don Luis, 
How pale she looked, when first the noise began. 
And then stood still, with her large eyes dilated ! 
Her nostrils spread ! her lips apart \ her bosom 
Tumultuous as the sea ! 

DON LUIS. 

I pitied her. 

LARA. 

Her pride is humbled \ and this very night 
I mean to visit her. 



258 The Spanish Stndeiit 

DON JUAN. 

Will you serenade her ? 

LARA. 

No music ! no more music 1 

DON LUIS. 

Why not music ? 
It softens many hearts. 

LARA. 

Not in the humor 
She now is in. Music would madden her. 

DON JUAN. 

Try golden cymbals. 

DON LUIS. 

Yes, try Don Dinero ; 
A mighty wooer is your Don Dinero. 

LARA. 

To tell the truth, then, I have bribed her maid 
But, Caballeros, you dislike this wine. 
A bumper and away ; for the night wears. 
A health to Preciosa. 

( They rise and drink. ) 
ALL. 

Preciosa. 

LARA {holding up his glass). 

7\ou bright and flaming minister of Love ! 



The Spanish Student 259 

Thou wonderful magician ! who hast stolen 
My secret from me, and mid sighs of passion 
Caught from my lips, with red and fiery tongue, 
Her precious name ! O never more henceforth 
Shall mortal lips press thine ; and never more 
A mortal name be whispered in thine ear. 
Go ! keep my secret ! 

{Drinks and dashes the goblet downJ) 
DON JUAN. 

Ite ! missa est ! 
{Scene doses.) 

SCENE X. 

Street and garden zuall. Night. Enter Cruzado and 
Bartolom£. 

CRUZADO. 

This is the garden wall, and above it, yonder, is 
her house. The window in which thou seest the 
light is her window. But we will not go in now. 

BARTOLOME. 

Why not ? 

CRUZADO. 

Because she is not at home. 

BARTOLOME. 

No matter ; we can wait. But how is this ? The 



26o TJie SpanisJi Student 

gate is bolted. {Sound of g^iitars and voices in a neighbor 

ing street.) Hark! There comes her lover with hij 
infernal serenade ! Hark ! 

SONG. 

Good night ! Good night, heloved 7 

I come to watch o'er thee ! 
To be near thee, — to be near thee, 

Alone is peace for me. 

Thine eyes are stars of morning, 

Thy lips are crimson flowers ! 
Good night ! Good night, beloved, 

While I count the weary hours. 

CRUZADO. 

They are not coming this way. 

BARTOLOME. 

Wait, they begin again. 

SONG {coming nearer) . 

Ah ! thou moon that shinest 

Argent-clear above ! 
All night long enlighten 

My sweet lady-love ! 

Moon that shinest, 
All night long enlighten ! 

BARTOLOME. 

Woe be to him, if he comes this way ! 

CRUZADO. 

Be quiet, they are passing down the street. 



The Spanish Student 261 

SONG [dying away). 

The nuns in the cloister 

Sang to each other ; 
For so many sisters 

Is there not one brother ! 
Ay, for the partridge, mother ! 

The cat has run away with the partridge ! 
Puss ! puss ! puss ! 

BARTOLOME. 

Follow that ! follow that ! Come with me. Puss ! 

puss ! 

[Exeunt. On the opposite side enter the Count of Lara and 
gentlemen, with Francisco.) 

LARA. 

The gate is fast. Over the wall, Francisco, 
And draw the bolt. There, so, and so, and over. 
Now, gentlemen, come in, and help me scale 
Yon balcony. How now ? Her light still burns. 
Move warily. Make fast the gate, Francisco. 
[Exeunt. Re-enter Cruzado and Bartolome.) 

BARTOLOME. 

They went in at the gate. Hark ! I hear them 
in the garden. [Tries the gate.) Bolted again! Vive 
Cristo ! Follow me over the wall. 
( They climb the wall. ) 



262 TJie Spanish Student 



SCENE XL 

Preciosa's bed-chai7iber. Midnight. She is sleeping in an 
arm-chair^ in an undress. Dolores watching her. 

DOLORES. 

She sleeps at last ! 

( Opens the windcnv and listens. ) 

All silent in the street, 
And in the garden. Hark ! 

PRECIOSA {in her sleep). 

I must go hence ! 
Give me my cloak ! 

DOLORES. 

He comes ! I hear his footsteps -. 

PRECIOSA. 

Go tell them that I cannot dance to-night ; 
I am too ill ! Look at me ! See the fever 
That burns upon my cheek ! I must go hence. 
I am too weak to dance. 

{Signal from the garden. ) 

DOLORES {from the windoiv). 
Who 's there ? 

VOICE {from below). 

A friend. 

DOLORES. 

I will undo the door. Wait till I come. 



The Spanish Student 263 

PRECIOSA. 

I must go hence. I pray you do not harm me ! 
Shame ! shame ! to treat a feeble woman thus ! 
Be you but kind, I will do all things for you. 
I 'm ready now, — give me my castanets. 
Where is Victorian ? Oh, those hateful lamps ! 
They glare upon me like an evil eye. 
I cannot stay. Hark ! how they mock at me ! 
They hiss at me like serpents ! Save me ! save 
me 1 

{She zuakcs. ) 

How late is it, Dolores .? 

DOLORES. 

It is midnight. 

PRECIOSA. 

We must be patient. Smooth this pillow for me. 
{She sleeps again. Noise frojn the garden^ and voices.) 
VOICE. 

Muera ! 

ANOTHER VOICE. 

O villains ! villains ! 

LARA. 

So ! have at you ! 

VOICE. 

Take that ! 

LARA. 

O, I am wounded ! 

DOLORES {shutting the windoTV) . 

Jesu Maria ! 



264 T^he Spanish Student 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. A cross-7-oad tkrotigh a loood. In the back- 
ground distajit village spire. VICTORIAN and Hypo- 
LITO, as travellijig students^ with guitars, sitting under the 
trees. F vpoLITO plays and sings. 

SONG. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Enemy 
Of all that mankind may not rue ! 

Most untrue 
To him who keeps most faith with thee. 

Woe is me ! 
The falcon has the eyes of the dove. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Yes, Love is ever busy with liis shuttle, 

Is ever weaving into Hfe's dull warp 

Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes Arcadian ; 

Hanging our gloomy prison-house about 

With tapestries, that make its walls dilate 

In never-ending vistas of delight. 

HYPOLITO. 

Thinking to walk in those Arcadian pastures, 
Thou hast run thy noble head against the wall. 



The Spanish Student 26$ 

SONG {continued) . 
Thy deceits 
Give us clearly to comprehend, 

Whither tend 
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets ! 

They are cheats, 
Thorns below and flowers above. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

VICTORIAN. 

A very pretty song. I thank thee for it. 

HYPOLITO. 

It suits thy case. 

VICTORIAN. 

Indeed, I tliink it does. 
What wise man wrote it ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Lopez Maldonado. 

VICTORIAN. 

In truth, a pretty song. 

HYPOLITO. 

With much truth in it. 
I hope thou wilt profit by it ; and in earnest 
Try to forget this lady of thy love. 

VICTORIAN. 

I will forget her ! All dear recollections 
Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book, 



266 The Spanish Student 

Shall be torn out, and scattered to the winds ! 

I will forget her ! But perhaps hereafter, 

When she shall learn how heartless is the world, 

A voice within her will repeat my name. 

And she will say, " He was indeed my friend ! " 

O, would I were a soldier, not a scholar, 

That the loud march, the deafening beat of drums, 

The shattering blast of the brass-throated trumpet. 

The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm. 

And a swift death, might make me deaf forever 

To the upbraidings of this foolish heart ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more ! 
To conquer love, one need but will to conquer. 

VICTORIAN. 

Yet, good Hypolito, it is in vain 

I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword 

That pierces me ; for, like Excalibar, 

With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will not sink. 

There rises from below a hand that grasps it, 

And waves it in the air ; and wailing voices 

Are heard along the shore. 

HYPOLITO. 

And yet at last 
Down sank Excalibar to rise no more. 
This is not well. In truth, it vexes me. 
vDSitead of whistling to the steeds of Time, 



The Spanish Student 26) 

To make them jog on merrily with hfe's burden, 
Like a dead weight thou hangest on the wheels. 
Thou art too young, too full of lusty health 
To talk of dying. 

VICTORIAN. 

Yet I fain would die ! 
To go through life, unloving and unloved ; 
To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul 
We cannot still ; that longing, that wild impulse, 
And struggle after something we have not 
And cannot have ; the effort to be strong ; 
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, and smile, 
While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks ; 
All this the dead feel not, — the dead alone ! 
Would I were with them ! 

HYPOLITO. 

We shall all be soon. 

VICTORIAN. 

It cannot be too soon ; for I am weary 
Of the bewildering masquerade of Life, 
Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as 

strangers ; 
Where whispers overheard betray false hearts ; 
And through the mazes of the crowd we chase 
Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons, 
And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us 
A mockery and a jest ; maddened, — confused, — 
Not knowing friend from foe. 



268 The Spanish Student 

HYPOLITO. 

Why seek to know ? 
Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth ! 
Take each fair mask for what it gives itself, 
Nor strive to look beneath it. 

VICTORIAN. 

I confess, 
That were the wiser part. But Hope no longer 
Comforts my soul. I am a wretched man, 
Much like a poor and shipwrecked mariner. 
Who, struggling to climb up into the boat, 
Has both his bruised and bleeding hands cut off. 
And sinks again into the weltering sea, 
Helpless and hopeless ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Yet thou shalt not perish. 
The strength of thine own arm is thy salvation. 
Above thy head, through rifted clouds, there shines 
A glorious star. Be patient. Trust thy star ! 
{Sound of a village bell in the distance.) 

VICTORIAN. 

Ave Maria ! I hear the sacristan 

Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry ! 

A solemn sound, that echoes far and wide 

Over the red roofs of the cottages, 

And bids the laboring hind a-field, the shepherd, 

Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer. 



The Spanish Student 269 

And all the crowd in village streets, stand still, 
And breathe a prayer unto the blessed Virgin ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Amen ! amen I Not half a league from hence 
The village lies. 

VICTORIAN. 

This path will lead us to it, 
Over the wheat fields, where the shadows sail 
Across the running sea, now green, now blue, 
And, like an idle mariner on the main, 
Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on. 

\Exeiint. 

SCENE II. 

Public square in the village of Guadarrajua. The Ave Maria 
still tolling. A cro^ud of villagers, with their hats in their 
hands, as if in prayer. In front, a group of Gypsies. The. 
bell rings a merrier peal. A Gypsy dance. Enter Pan- 
cno, followed by Pedro Crespo. 

PANCHO. 

Make room, ye vagabonds and Gypsy thieves ! 
Make room for the Alcalde and for me ! 

PEDRO CRESPO. 

Keep silence all ! I have an edict here 
From our most gracious lord, the King of Spain, 
Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands, 
Which I shall publish in the market-place. 
Open your ears and listen ! 



2/0 TJic Spanish S hi dent 

{Enter the Padre Cura at the door of his cottage.) 
Padre Cura, 
Good day ! and, pray you, hear this edict read. 

PADRE CURA. 

Good day, and God be with you ! Pray, what is 
it? 

PEDRO CRESPO. 

An act of banishment against the Gypsies ! 
{Agitation and mnnmirs in the croivd.) 

PANCHO. 

Silence ! 

PEDRO CRESPO {reads). 

" I hereby order and command, 
That the Egyptian and Chaldean strangers. 
Known by the name of Gypsies, shall henceforth 
Be banished from the realm, as vagabonds 
And beggars ; and if, after seventy days. 
Any be found within our kingdom's bounds, 
They shall receive a hundred lashes each ; 
The second time, shall have their ears cut off; 
The third, be slaves for life to him who takes them, 
Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the King." 
Vile miscreants and creatures unbaptized ! 
You hear the law ! Obey and disaj^jDear ! 

PANCHO. 

And if in seventy days you are not gone, 
Dead or alive I make you all my slaves. 



The Spanish Student 271 

{The Gypsies go out in confusion, sho^aing signs of fear and 
discontent. FANcnofot/ozc's.) 

PADRE CURA. 

A righteous law ! A very righteous law ! 
Pray you, sit down. 

PEDRO CRESPO. 

I thank you heartily. 

{They seat themselves on a bench at the Padre Cura's door. 
Sound of guitars heard at a distance, approaching during 
the dialogue which follows. ) 

A very righteous judgment, as you say. 

Now tell me, Padre Cura, — you know all things, — 

How came these Gypsies into Spain ? 

PADRE CURA. 

AVhy, look yot» ; 
They came with Hercules from Palestine, 
And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir Alcalde, 
As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus. 
And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says, 
There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor 
Is not a Christian, so 't is with the Gypsies. 
They never marry, never go to mass, 
Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent, 
Nor see the inside of a church, — nor — nor -^ 

PEDRO CRESPO. 

Good reasons, good, substantial reasons all ! 
No matter for the other ninety-five. 



272 The Spanish StJidmf 

They should be burnt, I see it plain enough, 
They should be burnt. 

{Enter Victorian and Hypolito playing. ) 

PADRE CURA. 

And pray, whom have we here ? 

PEDRO CRESPO. 

More vagrants ! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Good evening, gentlemen ! Is this Guadarrama 'i 

PADRE CURA. 

Yes, Guadarrama, and good evening to you. 

HYPOLITO. 

We seek the Padre Cura of the village ; 

And, judging from your dress and reverend mien, 

You must be he. 

PADRE CURA. 

I am. Pray, what 's your pleasure ? 

HYPOLITO. 

We are poor students, travelling in vacation. 
You know this mark ? 

( Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-band. ) 

PADRE CURA {joyfully). 

Ay, know it, and have worn it 

PEDRO CRESPO {aside). 

Soup-eaters ! by the mass ! The worst of vagrants ! 



The Spanish Student 273 

And there 's no law against them. Sir, your ser- 
vant. lExit. 

PADRE CURA. 

Your servant, Pedro Crespo. 

HYPOLITO. 

Padre Cura, 
From the first moment I beheld your face, 
I said within myself, " This is the man ! " 
There is a certain something in your looks, 
A certain scholar-like and studious something, — 
You understand, — which cannot be mistaken ; 
Which marks you as a very learned man, 
In fine, as one of us. 

VICTORIAN [aside]. 

What impudence ! 

HYPOLITO. 

As we approached, I said to my companion, 
" That is the Padre Cura ; mark my words ! " 
Meaning your Grace. " The other man," said I, 
" Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench, 
Must be the sacristan." 

PADRE CURA. 

Ah ! said you so ? 
Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the alcalde ! 

HYPOLITO. 

Indeed ! you much astonish me ! His air 



274 ^^^^ Spanish S indent 

Was not so full of dignity and grace 
As an alcalde's should be. 

PADRE CURA. 

That is true. 
He 's out of humor with some vagrant Gypsies, 
Who have their camp here in the neighborhood 
There 's nothing so undignified as anger. 

HYPOLITO. 

The Padre Cura will excuse our boldness, 
If, from his well-known hospitality, 
We crave a lodging for the night. 

PADRE CURA. 

I pray you/ 
You do me honor ! I am but too happy 
To have such guests beneath my humble roof. 
It is not often that I have occasion 
To speak with scholars ; and Eniollit mores, 
Nee sinit esseferos, Cicero says. 

HYPOLITO. 

'T is Ovid, is it not ? 

PADRE CURA. 

No, Cicero. 

HYPOLITO. 

Your Grace is right. You are the better scholar. 
Now what a dunce was I to think it Ovid ! 
But hang me if it is not ! {Aside.) 



The Spanish Student 275 

PADRE CURA. 

Pass this way. 
He was a very great man, was Cicero ! 
Pray you, go in, go in ! no ceremony. lExeimt. 



SCENE III. 

A room in the Padre Cura's house. Enter the Padre and 
Hypolito. 

PADRE CURA. 

So then, Seiior, you come from Alcala. 

I am glad to hear it. It was there I studied. 

HYPOLITO. 

And left behind an honored name, no doubt. 
How may I call your Grace .? 

PADRE CURA. 

Gerdnimo 
De -Santillana, at your Honor's service. 

HYPOLITO. 

Descended from the Marquis Santillana ? 
From the distinguished poet } 

PADRE CURA. 

^, ^ „ From the Marquis, 

Not from Ihe poet. 

HYPOLITO. 

Why, they were the same. 
Let me **'iibrace you ! O some lucky star 



2/6 The Spanish Student 

Has brought me hither ! Yet once more ! — once 

more ! 
Your name is ever green in Alcala, 
And our professor, when we are unruly, 
Will shake his hoary head, and- say, " Alas ! 
It was not so in Santillana's time ! " 

PADRE CURA. 

I chd not think my name remembered there. 

HYPOLITO. 

More than remembered ; it is idolized. 

PADRE CURA. 

Of what professor speak you ? 



Timoneda. 



HYPOLITO. 
PADRE CURA. 

I don't remember any Timoneda. 

HYPOLITO. 

A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow 
O'erhangs the rushing current of his speech 
As rocks o'er rivers hang. Have you forgotten? 

PADRE CURA. 

Indeed, I have. O, those were pleasant days. 

Those college days ! I ne'er shall see the like ! 

I had not buried then so many hopes ! 

I had not buried then so many friends ! 

I've turned my back on what was then before me ; 



The Spanish Student 277 

And the bright faces of my young companions 
Are wrinkled hke my own, or are no more. 
Do you remember Cueva ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Cueva ? Cueva ? 

PADRE CURA. 

Fool that I am ! He was before your time. 
You 're a mere boy, and I am an old man. 

HYPOLITO. 

I should not like to try my strength with you. 

PADRE CURA. 

Well, well. But I forget ; you must be hungry. 
Martina ! ho ! Martina ! 'T is my niece. 
{Enter Martina.) 

HYPOLITO. 

You may be proud of such a niece as that. 
I wish I had a niece. Emollit 7110 res. {Aside.) 
He was a very great man, was Cicero ! 
Your servant, fair Martina. 

MARTINA. 

Servant, sir. 

PADRE CURA. 

This gentleman is hungry. See thou to it. 
Let us have supper. 

MARTINA. 

'T will be ready soon. 



2/8 The Spanish Student 

PADRE CURA. 

And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Penas 

Out of the cellar. Stay ; I '11 go myself. 

Pray you^ Sen or, excuse me. {Exit. 

HYPOLITO. 

Hist! Martina! 
One word with you. Bless me! what handsome 

eyes ! 
To-day there have been Gypsies in the village. 
Is it not so ? 

MARTINA. 

There have been Gypsies here. 

HYPOLITO. 

Yes, and they told your fortune. 

MARTINA {embarrassed). 

Told my fortune ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Yes, yes ; I know they did. Give me your hand. 
I '11 tell you what they said. They said, — they 

said. 
The shepherd boy that loved you was a clown, 
(l\.nd him you should not marry. Was it not 1 

MARTINA {surprised). 
How know you that t 

HYPOLITO. 

O, I know more than that. 
What a soft, little hand ! And then they said, 



The Spanish Student 279 

A cavalier from court, handsome, and tall 
And rich, should come one day to marry you, 
And you should be a lady. Was it not ? 
He has arrived, the handsome cavalier. 

{Tries to kiss her. She runs off. Enter VICTORIAN, with a 
letter.) 

VICTORIAN. 

The muleteer has come. 

HYPOLITO. 

So soon ? 



VICTORIAN. 



1 found him 



Sitting at supper by the tavern door, 
And, from a pitcher that he held aloft 
His whole arm's length, drinking the blood-red 
wine. 

HYPOLITO. 

What news from Court ? 

VICTORIAN. 

He brought this letter only. {Reads.) 
O cursed perfidy ! Why did I let 
That lying tongue deceive me ! Preciosa, 
Sweet Preciosa ! how art thou avenged ! 

HYPOLITO. 

What news is this, that makes thy cheek turn pale, 
And thy hand tremble ? 



28o The Spanish Student 

VICTORIAN. 

O, most infamous ! 
The Count of Lara is a worthless villain ! 

HYPOLITO. 

That is no news, forsooth. 

VICTORIAN. 

He strove in vain 
To steal from me the jewel of my soul, 
The love of Preciosa. Not succeeding, 
He swore to be revenged ; and set on foot 
A plot to ruin her, which has succeeded. 
She has been hissed and hooted from the stage, 
Her reputation stained by slanderous lies 
Too foul to speak of; and, once more a beggar, 
She roams a wanderer over God's green earth, 
Housing with Gypsies ! 

HYPOLITO. 

To renew again 
The Age of Gold, and make the shepherd swains 
Desperate with love, like Gasper Gil's Diana. 
Redit et Virgo ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Dear Hypolito, 
How have I wronged that meek, confiding heart ! 
I will go seek for her ; and with my tears 
Wash out the wrong I 've done her ! 



The Spanish Studeitt 281 

HYPOLITO. 

O beware ! 
Act not that folly o'er again. 

VICTORIAN. 

Ay, folly, 
Delusion, madness, call it what thou wilt, 
I will confess my weakness, — I still love her ! 
Still fondly love her ! 

{Enter the Padre Cura.) 

HYPOLITO. 

Tell us. Padre Cura, 
^Vho are these Gypsies in the neighborhood ? 

padre cura. 
Beltran Cruzado and his crew. 

VICTORIAN. 

Kind Heaven, 
I thank thee ! She is found ! is found again ! 

HYPOLITO. 

And have they with them a pale, beautiful girl, 
Called Preciosa? 

> PADRE CURA. 

Ay, a pretty girl. 
The gentleman seems moved. 

HYPOLITO. 

Yes, moved with hunger. 
He is half famished with this long day's journey. 



282 The Spanish Student 

PADRE CURA. 

Then, pray you, come this way. The supper waits. 

\_Exeiint. 

SCENE IV. 

A post-house on the 7'oad to Segovia, not far from the village of 
Guadarra?na. Enter Chispa, cracking a whip and sing- 
ing the Cachucha. 

CHISPA. 

Halloo ! Don Fulano ! Let us have horses, 
and quickly. Alas, poor Chispa ! what a dog's 
life dost thou lead ! I thought, when I left my old 
master Victorian, the student, to serve my new 
master Don Carlos, the gentleman, that I, too, 
should lead the life of a gentleman ; should go to 
bed early, and get up late. For when the abbot 
plays cards, what can you expect of the friars? 
But, in running away from the thunder, I have run 
into the lightning. Here I am in hot chase after 
my master and his Gypsy girl. And a good begin- 
ning of the week it is, as he said who was hanged 
on Monday morning. 

{Enter Don Carlos. ) 

DON CARLOS. 

Are not the horses ready yet ? 

CHISPA. 

I should think not, for the hostler seems to be 



The Spanish Student 283 

asleep. Ho ! within there ! Horses ! horses ! 
horses ! {ffe knocks at the gate with his zahip^ and enter 
Mosquito, putting ojt his jacket.) 

MOSQUITO. 

Pray, have a Uttle patience. I 'm not a musket. 

CHISPA. 

Health and pistareens ! I 'm glad to see you 
come on dancing, padre ! Pray, what 's the news ? 

MOSQUITO. 

You cannot have fresh horses ; because there 
are none. 

CHISPA. 

Cachiporra ! Throw that bone to another dog. 
Do I look like your aunt ? 

MOSQUITO. 

No ; she has a beard. 

CHISPA. 

Go to ! go to ! 

MOSQUITO. 

Are you from Madrid ? 

CHISPA. 

Yes ; and going to Estramadura. Get us horses. 

MOSQUITO. 

What 's the news at Court ? 



284 The Spanish Student 

CHISPA. 

Why, the latest news is, that I am going to set 
up a coach, and I have already bought the whip. 

[Strikes him rotmd the legs. ) 

MOSQUITO. 

Oh ! oh ! you hurt me ! 

DON CARLOS. 

Enough of this folly. Let us have horses. [Gives 
money to Mosquito.) It is almost dark ; and we are 
in haste. But tell me, has a band of Gypsies 
passed this way of late ? 

MOSQUITO. 

Yes ; and they are still in the neighborhood. 

DON CARLOS. 

And where ? 

MOSQUITO. 

Across the fields yonder, in the woods near 
Guadarrama. [Exit. 

DON CARLOS. 

Now this is lucky. We will visit the Gypsy 
camp. 

CHISPA. 

Are you not afraid of the evil eye ? Have you 
a stag's horn with you ? 

DON CARLOS. 

Fear not. We will pass the night at the village. 



The Spanish Student 285 

CHISPA. 

And sleep like the Squires of Hernan Daza, 
nine under one blanket. 

DON CARLOS. 

I hope we may find the Preciosa among them. 

CHISPA. 

Among the Squires ? 

DON CARLOS. 

No ; among the Gypsies, blockhead ! 

CHISPA. 

I hope we may; for we are giving ourselves 
trouble enough on her account. Don't you think 
so ? However, there is no catching trout without 
wetting one's trousers. Yonder come the horses. 

\_Exac7it. 

SCENE V. 

The Gypsy camp in the forest. Night. Gypsies working at a 
forge. Others playing cards by the fire-light. 

GYPSIES [at the forge sing). 
On the top of a mountain I stand, 
With a crown of red gold in my hand, 
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea, 
O how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee ? 
O how from their fury shall I flee ? 

FIRST GYPSY [playing). 

Down with your John-Dorados, my pigeon, 



286 The Spanish Student 

Down with your John-Dorados, and let us make 
an end. 

GYPSIES [at the forge sing). 

Loud sang the Spanish cavaher, 

And thus his ditty ran ; 
God send the Gypsy lassie here, 

And not the Gypsy man. 

FIRST GYPSY [playing). 

There you are in your morocco ! 

SECOND GYPSY. 

One more game. The Alcalde's doves against 
the Padre Cura's new moon. 

FIRST GYPSY. 

Have at you, Chirelin. 

GYPSIES [at the forge sing). 
At midnight, when the moon began 

To show her silver flame, 
There came to him no Gypsy man, 
The Gypsy lassie came, 
(^w/^;- Beltran Cruzado.) 

CRUZADO. 

Come hither, Murcigalleros and Rastilleros ; 
leave work, leave play ; listen to your orders for 
the night. [Speaking to the right.) You will get you 
to the village, mark you, by the stone cross. 

GYPSIES. 

Ay! 



The Spanish Student 287 

CRUZADO {to the left). 
And you, by the pole with the hermit's head 
upon it. 

GYPSIES. 

Ay! 

CRUZADO. 

As soon as you see the planets are out, in with 
you, and be busy with the ten commandments, 
under the sly, and Saint Martin asleep. D'ye 
hear? 

GYPSIES. 

Ay! 

CRUZADO. 

Keep your lanterns open, and, if you see a 
goblin or a papagayo, take to 3'our trampers. 
Vineyards and Dancing John is the word. Am I 
comprehended ? 



Ay! ay 



GYPSIES. 



CRUZADO. 



Away, then ! 

{Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks iip the stage, and disap- 
pears among the trees. Enter Preciosa. ) 

PRECIOSA. 

How strangely gleams through the gigantic trees 
The red light of the forge ! Wild, beckoning 

shadows 
Stalk through the forest, ever and anon 



288 The Spanish Stitdent 

Rising and bending with the flickering flame, 
Then flitting into darkness ! So within me 
Strange hopes and fears do beckon to each other, 
My brightest hopes giving dark fears a being 
As the hght does the shadow. Woe is me ! 
How stiU it is about me, and how lonely ! 
(Bartolome ricshes in.) 

BARTOLOM]^. 

Ho ! Preciosa ! 

PRECIOSA. 

O Bartolome ! 
Thou here ? 

BARTOLOM^. 

Lo ! I am here. 

PRECIOSA. 

Whence comest thou ? 

BARTOLOME. 

From the rough ridges of the wild Sierra, 
From caverns in the rocks, from hunger, thirst, 
And fever ! Like a wfld wolf to the sheepfold 
Come I fo: thee, my lamb. 

PRECIOSA. 

O touch me not ! 
The Count of Lara's blood is on thy hands ! 
The Count of Lara's curse is on thy soul ! 
Do not come near me ! Pray, begone from here ! 



The Spanish Student 289 

Thou art in danger ! They have set a price 
Upon thy head ! 

BARTOLOME. 

Ay, and I Ve wandered long 
Among the mountains ; and for many days 
Have seen no human face, save the rough swine- 
herd's. 
The wind and rain have been my sole companions. 
I shouted to them from the rocks thy name, 
And the loud echo sent it back to me, 
Till I grew mad. I could not stay from thee, 
And I am here ! Betray me, if thou wilt. 

PRECIOSA. 

Betray thee ? I betray thee ? 

BARTOLOME. 

Preciosa ! 
I come for thee ! for thee I thus brave death ! 
Fly with me o'er the borders of this realm ! 
Fly with me ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Speak of that no more. I cannot 
I 'm thine no longer. 

BARTOLOM^. 

O, recall the time 
When we were children ! how we played together. 
How we grew up together ; how we plighted 
Our hearts unto each other, even in childhood ! 



290 TJie Spanish Student 

Fulfil thy promise, for the hour has come. 
I 'm hunted from the kingdom, like a wolf! 
Fulfil thy promise. 

PRECIOSA. 

'T was my father's promise, 
Not mine. I never gave my heart to thee, 
Nor promised thee my hand ! 

BARTOLOME. 

False tongue of woman ! 
And heart more false ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Nay, listen unto me. 
T will speak frankly. I have never loved thee ; 
I cannot love thee. This is not my fault, 
It is my destiny. Thou art a man 
Restless and violent. What wouldst thou with me, 
A feeble girl, who have not long to live. 
Whose heart is broken .'' Seek another wife. 
Better than I, and fairer ; and let not 
Thy rash and headlong moods estrange her from 

thee. 
Thou art unhappy in this hopeless passion. 
I never sought thy love ; never did aught 
To make thee love me. Yet I pity thee, 
And most of all I pity thy wild heart. 
That hurries thee to crimes and deeds of blood. 
Beware, beware of that. 



The Spmiish Student 291 

BARTOLOME. 

For thy dear sake 
I will be gentle. Thou shalt teach me patience. 

PRECIOSA. 

Then take this farewell, and depart in peace. 
Thou must not linger here. 

BARTOLOME. 

Come, come with me. 

PRECIOSA. 

Hark ! I hear footsteps. 

BARTOLOME. 

I entreat thee, come ! 

PRECIOSA. 

x\way ! It is in vain. 

BARTOLOM^. 

Wilt thou not come ? 

PRECIOSA. 

Never ! 

BARTOLOME. 

Then woe, eternal woe, upon thee ! 
Thou shalt not be another's. Thou shalt die. 

\Exit. 
PRECIOSA. 

All holy angels keep me in this hour ! 
Spirit of her who bore me, look upon me 1 
Mother of God, the glorified, protect me I 



292 The Spanish Student 

Christ and the saints, be merciful unto me ! 
Yet why should I fear death ? What is it to die ? 
To leave all disappointment, care, and sorrow. 
To leave all falsehood, treachery, and unkindness, 
All ignominy, suffering, and despair, 
And be at rest forever ! O dull heart, 
Be of good cheer ! When thou shalt cease to beat, 
Then shalt thou cease to suffer and complain ! 
{Enter Victorian and Hypolito behind. ) 

VICTORIAN. 

'T is she ! Behold, how beautiful she stands 
Under the tent-like trees ! 

HYPOLITO. 

A woodland nymph ! 

VICTORIAN. 

I pray thee, stand aside. Leave me. 

HYPOLITO. 

Be wary. 
Do not betray thyself too soon. 

VICTORIAN {disgnising his voice). 

Hist! Gypsy! 

PRECIOSA {aside, with emotiofi). 

That voice ! that voice from heaven ! O speak 

again ! 
Who is it calls ? 

• VICTORIAN. 

A friend. 



The Spanish Student 293 

PRECIOSA [aside). 

'Tishe! 'Tishe! 
I thank thee, Heaven, that thou hast heard my 

prayer, 
And sent me this protector ! Now be strong, 
Be strong, my heart ! 1 must dissemble here. 
False friend or true ? 

VICTORIAN. 

A true friend to the true ; 
Fear not ; come hither. So ; can you tell fortunes ? 

PRECIOSA. 

Not in the dark. Come nearer to the fire. 
Give me your hand. It is not crossed, I see. 

VICTORIAN [putting a piece of gold into her hand). 

There is the cross. 

PRECIOSA. 

Is 't silver 1 



VICTORIAN. 



No, 't is gold 



PRECIOSA. 

There 's a fair lady at the Court, who loves you. 
And for yourself alone. 

VICTORIAN. 

Fie ! the old story I 
Tell me a better fortune for my money ; 
Not this old woman's tale ! 



I- 



i 294 The Spmiish Student 

{ PRECIOSA. 

You are passionate ; 
And this same passionate humor in your blood 
Has marred your fortune. Yes ; I see it now ; 
The line of life is crossed by many marks. 

I Shame ! shame ! O you have wronged the maid 

who loved you ! 
How could you do it ? 

VICTORIAN. 

I never loved a maid ; 
For she I loved was then a maid no more. 

PRECIOSA. 

How know you that ? 

VICTORIAN. 

A little bird in the air 
Whispered the secret. 

PRECIOSA. 

There, take back your gold ! 
Your hand is cold, like a deceiver's hand ! 
There is no blessing in its charity ! 
Make her your wife, for you have been abused ; 
And you shall mend your fortunes, mending hers. 

VICTORIAN {aside). 
How like an angel's speaks the tongue of woman, 
When pleading in another's cause her own ! 
That is a pretty ring upon your finger. 
Fray give it me. ( Tj-ies to take the rhig. ) 



The Spanish Student 295 

PRECIOSA. 

No ; never from my hand 
Shall that be taken ! 

VICTORIAN. 

Why, 't is but a ring. 
I '11 give it back to you ; or, if I keep it, 
Will give you gold to buy you twenty such. 

PRECIOSA. 

Why would you have this ring ? 

VICTORIAN. 

A traveller's fancy, 
A whim, and nothing more. I would fain keep it 
As a memento of the Gypsy camp 
In Guadarrama, and the fortune-teller 
Who sent me back to wed a widowed maid. 
Pray, let me have the ring. 

PRECIOSA. 

No, never ! never ! 
I will not part with it, even when I die ; 
But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers thus, 
That it may not fall from them. 'T is a token 
Of a beloved friend, who is no more. 

VICTORIAN. 

How? dead? 

PRECIOSA. 

Yes ; dead to me ; and worse than dead. 
He is estranged ! And yet I keep this ring. 



296 The Spanish Student 

I will rise with it from my grave hereafter, 
To prove to him that I was never false. 

VICTORIAN {aside). 

Be still, my swelling heart ! one moment, still \ 
Why, 't is the folly of a love-sick girl. 
Come, give it me, or I will say 't is mine, 
And that you stole it. 

PRECIOSA. 

O, you will not dare 
To utter such a falsehood ! 

VICTORIAN. 

I not dare ? 
Look in my face, and say if there is aught 
I have not dared, I would not dare for thee \ 
{She rushes into his amis. ) 

PRECIOSA. 

'T is thou ! 't is thou ! Yes ; yes ; my heart's 

elected ! 
My dearest-dear Victorian ! my soul's heaven ! 
Where hast thou been so long ? Why didst thou 

leave me ? 

VICTORIAN. 

Ask me not now, my dearest Preciosa. 
Let me forget we ever have been parted ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Hadst thou not come 



The Spanish Student 297 

VICTORIAN. 

I pray thee, do not chide me 1 

PRECIOSA. 

I should have perished here among these Gypsies. 

VICTORIAN. 

Forgive me, sweet ! for what I made thee suffer. 
Think'st thou tliis heart could feel a moment's joy, 
Thou being absent ? O, believe it not ! 
Indeed, since that sad hour I have not slept, 
For thinking of the wrong I did to thee ! 
Dost thou forgive me ? Say, wilt thou forgive me ? 

PRECIOSA. 

I have forgiven thee. Ere those words of anger 
Were in the book of Heaven writ down against 

thee, 
I had forgiven thee. 

VICTORIAN. 

I 'm the veriest fool 
That walks the earth, to have believed thee false. 
It was the Count of Lara 

PRECIOSA. 

That bad man 
Has worked me harm enough. Hast thou not 
heard 

VICTORIAN. 

I have heard all. And yet speak on, speak on ! 



i 



298 The Spanish Student 

Let me but hear thy voice, and I am happy ; 
For every tone, like some sweet incantation, 
Calls up the buried past to plead for me. 
Speak, my beloved, speak into my heart, 
Whatever fills and agitates thine own. 
( They walk aside.) 

HYPOLITO. 

All gentle quarrels in the pastoral poets, 
All passionate love scenes in the best romances, 
All chaste embraces on the public stage. 
All soft adventures, which the liberal stars 
Have winked at, as the natural course of things, 
Have been surpassed here by my friend, the stu- 
dent. 
And this sweet Gypsy lass, fair Preciosa ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Senor Hypolito ! I kiss your hand. 
Pray, shall I tell your fortune ? 

HYPOLITO. 

Not to-night ; 
For, should you treat me as you did Victorian, 
And send me back to marry maids forlorn. 
My wedding day would last from now till Christ- 
mas. 

CHISPA {wiihifi). 

What ho ! the Gypsies, ho ! Beltran Cruz ado ! 
Halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! 

[Enters booted, with a ivhip and lantej-n.) 



The Spanish Studmt 299 

VICTORIAN. 

What now ? 
Why such a fearful din ? Hast thou been robbed ? 

CHISPA. 

Ay, robbed and murdered ; and good evening to 

you, 
My worthy masters. 

VICTORIAN. 

Speak ; what brings thee here ? 
CHISPA [to Preciosa). 
Good news from Court ; good news ! Beltran Cru- 

zado. 
The Count of the Cales, is not your father, 
But your true father has returned to Spain 
Laden with wealth. You are no more a Gypsy. 

VICTORIAN. 

Strange as a Moorish tale ! 

CHISPA. 

And we have all 



Been drinking at the tavern to your health, 


As wells drink in November, when it 


rains. 


VICTORIAN. 




Where is the gentleman ? 




CHISPA. 




As the old 


song says, 


His body is in Segovia, 




His soul is in Madrid. 





300 The Spajiish Student 

PRECIOSA. 

Is this a dream ? O, if it be a dream, 
Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet ! . 
Repeat thy story ! Say I 'm not deceived ! 
Say that I do not dream ! I am awake ; 
This is the Gypsy camp ; this is Victorian, 
And this his friend, HypoHto ! Speak ! speak ! 
Let me not wake and find it all a dream ! 

VICTORIAN. 

It is a dream, sweet child ! a waking dream, 

A blissful certainty, a vision bright 

Of that rare happiness, which even on earth 

Heaven gives to those it loves. Now art thou rich, 

As thou wast ever beautiful and good ; 

And I am now the beggar. 

PRECIOSA {giving him her hand). 

I have still 
A hand to give. 

CHISPA {aside). 
And I have two to take. 
I 've heard my grandmother say, that Heaven gives 

almonds 
To those who have no teeth. That 's nuts to crack, 
I 've teeth to spare, but where shall I find al- 
monds ? 

VICTORIAN. 

What more of this strange story ? 



"' 



The Spanish Student 301 

CHISPA. 

Nothing more. 
Your friend, Don Carlos, is now at the village 
Showing to Pedro Crespo, the Alcalde, 
The proofs of what I tell you. The old hag. 
Who stole you in your childhood, has confessed ; 
And probably they '11 hang her for the crime. 
To make the celebration more complete. 

VICTORIAN. 

No ; let it be a day of general joy ; 

Fortune comes well to all, that comes not late. 

Now let us join Don Carlos. 

HYPOLITO. 

So farewell. 
The student's wandering life ! Sweet serenades, 
Sung under ladies' windows in the night, 
And all thai" makes vacation beautiful ! 
To you, ye cloistered shades of Alcala, 
To you, ye radiant visions of romance, 
Written in books, but here surpassed by truth, 
The Bachelor Hypolito returns, 
And leaves the Gypsy with the Spanish Student 



302 The Spanish Student 

SCENE VI. 

A. pass in the Giiadarrama mountains. Early morning. 
A muleteer crosses the stage, sitting sideways on his mule, 
and lighting a paper cigar with flint and steel, 

SONG. 

If thou art sleeping, maiden, 
Awake and open thy door, 

I'T is the break of day, and we must away. 
O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. 

\ Wait not to find thy slippers, 

' But come with thy naked feet ; 

We shall have to pass through the dewy grass, 
\ And waters wide and fleet. 

[Disappears doion the pass. Enter a Monk. A Shepherd 
appears on the rocks above. ) 

i MONK. 

i 

^ Ave Maria, gratia plena. Ola ! good man i 

SHEPHERD. 

Ola ! 

MONK. 

Is this the road to Segovia ? 

SHEPHERD. 

It is, your reverence. 

MONK. 

How far is it ? 



The Spanish Student 303 

SHEPHERD. 

I do not know. 

MONK. 

What is that yonder in the valley ? 

SHEPHERD. 

San Ildefonso. 

MONK. 

A long way to breakfast. 

SHEPHERD. 

Ay, marry. 

MONK. 

Are there robbers in these mountains ? 

SHEPHERD. 

Yes, and worse than that. 

MONK. 

What? 

SHEPHERD. 

Wolves. 

MONK. 

Santa Maria ! Come with me to San Ildefonso, 
and thou shalt be well rewarded. 

SHEPHERD. 

What wilt thou give me ? 

MONK. 

An Agnus Dei and my benediction. 



304 The Spanish Student 

\ 

( They disappear. A inoimted Contrabandista passes, ivrapped 
in his cloak, and a gun at his saddle-bozo. He goes down the 
pass singing. ) 

SONG. 

Worn with speed is my good steed, 
And I march me hurried, worried ; 
Onward, caballito mio, 
With the white star in thy forehead ! 
Onward, for here comes the Ronda, 
And I hear their rifles crack ! 
Ay, jaleo ! Ay, ay, jaleo ! 
' Ay, jaleo ! They cross our track. 



[Song dies away. Enter Preciosa, on horseback, attended by 
Victorian, Hypolito, Don Carlos, and Chispa, on 
foot, and armed.) 

VICTORIAN. 

This is the highest point. Here let us rest. 

See, Preciosa, see how all about us 

Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty mountains 

Receive the benediction of the sun ! 

O glorious sight ! 

PRECIOSA. 

Most beautiful indeed ! 



HYPOLITO. 



Most wonderful ! 



VICTORIAN. 

And in the vale below, 
Where yonder steeples flash like lifted halberds, 



The SpajiisJi Student 305 

San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries, 
Sends up a salutation to the morn, 
As if an army smote their brazen shields, 
And shouted victory ! 

PRECIOSA. 

And which way lies 
Segovia ? 

VICTORIAN. 

At a great distance yonder. 
Dost thou not see it 1 

PRECIOSA. 

No. I do not see it. 

VICTORIAN. 

The merest flaw that dents the horizon's edge. 
There, yonder ! 

HYPOLITO. 

'T is a notable old town. 
Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct. 
And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors, 
Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil Bias 
Was fed on Pan del Rey. O, many a time 
Out of its grated windows have I looked 
Hundreds of feet plumb down to the Eresma. 
That, like a serpent through the valley creeping, 
Glides at its foot. 

PRECIOSA. 

O yes ! I see it now, 



r 



3o6 The Spanish Student 

Yet rather with my heart than with mine eyes, 
So faint it is. And, all my thoughts sail thither, 
Freighted with prayers and hopes, and forward 

urged 
Against all stress of accident, as in 
The Eastern Tale, against the wind and tide 
Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic Moun- 
tains, 
And there were wrecked, and perished in the 
sea! {Shezveeps.) 

VICTORIAN. 

O gentle spirit ! Thou didst bear unmoved 
Blasts of adversity and frosts of fate ! 
But the first ray of sunshine that falls on thee 
Melts thee to tears ! O, let thy weary heart 
Lean upon mine ! and it shall faint no more. 
Nor thirst, nor hunger ; but be comforted 
And filled with my affection. 

PRECIOSA. 

Stay no longer ! 
My father waits. Methinks I see him there. 
Now looking from the window, and now watching 
Each sound of wheels or footfall in the street. 
And saying, " Hark ! she comes ! " O father ) 
father ! 
( They descend the pass. Chispa re??iains behind.) 
CHISPA. 

I have a father, too, but he is a dead one. Alas 



The Spmiish Student 307 

and alack-a-day! Poor was I born, and poor 
do I remain. I neither win nor lose. Thus I wag 
through the world, half the time on foot, and the 
other half walking ; and always as merry as a thun- 
der-storm in the night. And so we plough along, 
as the fly said to the ox. Who knows what may 
happen ? Patience, and shuffle the cards ! I am 
not yet so bald that you can see my brains ; and 
perhaps, after all, I shall some day go to Rome, 
and come back Saint Peter. Benedicite ! \Exit 

{A pause. Then enter Bartolome zuildly, as if in pursuit^ 
with a carbine in his hand. ) 

BARTOLOME. 

They passed this way ! I hear their horses' hoofs ! 
Yonder I see them ! Come, sweet caramillo. 
This serenade shall be the Gypsy's last ! 

{Fires doxvn the pass.) 

Ha ! ha ! Well whistled, my sweet caramillo ! 
Well whistled ! — I have missed her ! — O my 

God! 

( The shot is returned. BARTOLOMf yaZ/j.) 



NOTES 



Page 49. Coplas de Manriqtie. 

This poem of Manrique is a great favorite in Spain. No 
less than four poetic Glosses, or running commentaries, upon 
it have been published, no one of which, however, possesses 
great poetic merit. That of the Carthusian monk, Rodrigo 
de Valdepenas, is the best. It is known as the Glosa del 
Cartujo. There is also a prose Commentary by Luis de 
Aranda. 

The following stanzas of the poem were found in the 
author's pocket, after his death on the field of battle. 

" O World ! so few the years we live, 
Would that the life which thou dost give 
Were life indeed ! 
Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
Our happiest hour is when at last 
The soul is freed. 

•' Our days are covered o'er with grief, 
And sorrows neither few nor brief 
Veil all in gloom ; 
Left desolate of real good, 
Within this cheerless solitude 
No pleasures bloom. 

•'Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
And ends in bitter doubts and fears, 
Or dark despair ; 
Midway so many toils appear, 
That he who lingers longest here 
Knows most of care. 



312 Notes 

"Thy goods are bought with many a groan. 
By the hot sweat of toil alone, 
And weary hearts ; 
Fleet-footed is the approach of woe. 
But with a lingering step and slow 
Its form departs." 

Page 83. My Grave! 

Nils Juel was a celebrated Danish Admiral, and Peder 
Wessel, a Vice-Admiral, who for his great prowess received 
the popular title of Tordenskiold, or Thunder-shield. In 
childhood he was a tailor's apprentice, and rose to his high 
rank before the age of twenty-eight, when he was killed in a 
duel. 

Page 103. The Skeleton in Armor. 

This Ballad was suggested to me while riding on the 
sea-shore at Newport. A year or two previous a skeleton 
had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken and corroded 
armor ; and the idea occurred to me of connecting it with 
the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto 
as the Old Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as 
a work of their early ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the 
Memoires de la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord, for 
1838- 1839, says: — 

" There is no mistaking in this instance the style in which the 
more ancient stone edifices of the North were constructed, — 
the style which belongs to the Roman or Ante-Gothic archi- 
tecture, and which, especially after the time of Charlemagne, 
diffused itself from Italy over the whole of the West and 
North of Europe, where it continued to predominate until the 
close of the twelfth century, — that style which some authors 
have, from one of its most striking characteristics, called the 
round arch style, the same which in England is denominated 



s Saxon and sometimes Norman architecture. 



Notes 313 

** On the ancient structure m Newport there are no orna- 
ments remaining, which might possibly have served to guide 
us in assigning the probable date of its erection. That no 
vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch, nor any approx- 
imation to it, is indicative of an earlier rather than of a later 
period. From such characteristics as remain, however, we can 
scarcely form any other inference than one, in which I am 
persuaded that all who are familiar with Old-Northern archi- 
tecture will concur, that this building was erected at 

A PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT LATER THAN THE TWELFTH 

CENTURY. This remark applies, of course, to the original 
building only, and not to the alterations that it subsequently 
received ; for there are several such alterations in the upper 
part of the building which cannot be mistaken, and which 
were most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern 
times to various uses ; for example, as the substructure of a 
windmill, and latterly as a hay magazine. To the same times 
may be referred the windows, the fireplace, and the apertures 
made above the columns. That this building could not have 
been erected fo^ a windmill, is what an architect will easily 
discern." 

I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is suffi- 
ciently well established for the purpose of a ballad ; though 
doubtless many a citizen of Newport, who has passed his 
days within sight of the Round Tower, will be ready to ex- 
claim, with Sancho : " God bless me ! did I not warn you 
to have a care of what you were doing, for that it was nothing 
but a windmill ; and nobody could mistake it, but one who 
had the like in his head." 

Page 109. Skoal! 

In Scandinavia, this is the customary salutation when 
drinking a health. I have slightly changed the orthography 
of the word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. 



314 Notes 

Pa2e 1 13. The Luck of Edejihall. 

The tradition upon which this ballad is founded, and the 
"shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in England. 
The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher Musgrave, 
Bart, of Eden Hall, Cumberland ; and is not so entirely shat- 
tered as the ballad leaves it. 

Page 116. The Elected Knight. 

This strange and somewhat mystical ballad is from Nyerup 
and Rahbek's Danske Viser of the Middle Ages. It seems 
to refer to the first preaching of Christianity in the North, 
and to the institution of Knight-Errantry. The three maid- 
ens I suppose to be Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregu- 
larities of the original have been carefully preserved in the 
translation. 

Page 186. As Lope says. 

" La c61era 
de un Espaiiol sentado no se templa, 
sino le representan en dos horas 
hasta el final juicio desde el Genesis," 

Lopede Vega, 

Page 191. Abernuncio Satanas. 

"Digo, Senora, respondio Sancho, lo que tengo dicho, 
que de los azotes abernuncio. Abrenuncio, habeis de decir, 
Sancho, y no como decis, dijo el Duque." — Don Quixote^ 
Part II. ch. 35. 

Page 208. Fray Carrillo. 

The allusion here is to a Spanish Epigram. 

" Siempre Fray Carrillo estds 
cansindonos aci fuera : 
quien en tu celda estuviera 
para no verte jamas 1 " 

Ldhlde Faber. Florista, No. ^i. 



Notes 315 

Page 208. Padre Francisco. 

This is from an Italian popular song, 

" ' Padre Francesco, 

y Padre Francesco ! ' 

— Cosa volete del Padre Francesco? — 

'V e una bella ragazzina 

Che si vuole confessar 1 * 

Fatte 1' entrare, fatte 1' entrare I 

Che la voglio confessare." 

Kopisch. Volksthumliche Poesien aus alien Mun- 

; darten Itallens und seiner Inseln, p. 194. 

I 
t 

'^ Page 211. Ave! cuj'us c ale em dare. 

\ From a monkish hymn of the twelfth century, in Sir Alex- 

i ander Croke's Essay on the Origin^ Progress, and Decline of 

Rhyming Latin Verse, p. 109. 

Page 222. The gold of the Biisne. 

Busne is the name given by the Gypsies to all who are not 
of their race. 

Page 224. Count of the Cales. 

The Gypsies call themselves Cales. See Borrow's valuable 
and extremely interesting work, The Zincali ; or an Account 
of the Gypsies in Spain. London, 184 1. 

Pape 230. Asks if his money-bags would rise. 

"iY volviendome a un lado, vi a un Avariento, que 
estaba preguntando a otro, (que por haber sido embalsamado, 
y estar lexos sus tripas no hablaba, porque no habian llegado 
si habian de resucitar aquel dia todos los enterrados) si resu- 
citarian unos bolsones suyos ? " — El Sueno de las Calaveras, 



3i6 Notes 

Page 230. And amen! said my C id the Campeador, 

A line from the ancient Poema del Cid. 

" Amen, dixo Mio Cid el Campeador." 

Line 3044. 

Page 232. The river of his thoughts. 
This expression is from Dante j 

" Si che chiaro 
Per essa scenda della mente il fiume." 

Byron has likewise used the expression ; though I do not 
recollect in which of his poems. 

Page 233. Mari Frajica. 

A common Spanish proverb, used to turn aside a question 
one does not wish to answer ; 

" Porque caso Mari Franca 
quatro leguas de Salamanca." 

Page 235. Ay, soft, emerald eyes. 

The Spaniards, with good reason, consider this color of the 
eye as beautiful, and celebrate it in song ; as, for example, in 
the well-known Villancico : 

" Ay ojuelos verdes, 
ay los mis ojuelos, 
ay hagan los cielos 
que de mf te acuerdes I 

Tengo confianza 
de mis verdes ojos." 

Bdht de Faber. Floresta, No. 255. 

Dante speaks of Beatrice's eyes as emeralds. Purgatorio, 
xxxi. 116. Lami says, in his Annotaziotii, " Erano i suoi 
occhi d' un turchino verdiccio, simile a quel del mare. " 



ISTotes 317 

Page 237. The Avenging Child. 

See the ancient Ballads of El Infante Vengador^ and Ca- 
laynos. 

Page 237. All are sleeping. 

From the Spanish. Bbhl de Faber. Floresta^ No. 282. 

Page 260. Good night. 

From the Spanish ; as are likewise the songs immediately 
following, and that which commences the first scene of Act III. 

Page 284. The evil eye. 

"In the Gitano language, casting the evil eye is called 
Querelar nasnla, which simply means making sick, and 
which, according to the common superstition, is accomplished 
by casting an evil look at people, especially children, who, 
from the tenderness of their constitution, are supposed to be 
more easily blighted than those of a more mature age. After 
receiving the evil glance, they fall sick, and die in a few 
hours. 

*'The Spaniards have very little to say respecting the evil 
eye, though the belief in it is very prevalent, especially in 
Andalusia, amongst the lower orders. A stag's horn is con- 
sidered a good safeguard, and on that account a small horn, 
tipped with silver, is frequently attached to the children's 
necks by means of a cord braided from the hair of a black 
mare's tail. Should the evil glance be cast, it is imagined 
that the horn receives it, and instantly snaps asunder. Such 
horns may be purchased in some of the silversmiths' shops at 
Seville." — BoRROw's Zincali, Vol. I. ch. ix. 

Page 285. On the top of a mozmtain /stand. 

This and the following scraps of song are from Borrow*s 
Zincali; or an Account of the Gypsies in Spain. 



3 1 8 Notes 

The Gypsy words in the same scene may be thus inter- 
preted : — 

John- Dorados, pieces of gold. 

Pigeon, a simpleton. 

In your morocco, stripped. 

DoveSy sheets. 

Moon, a shirt. 

Chirelin, a thief. 

Mitrcigalleros, those who steal at nightfall. 

Rastilleros, footpads. 

Hermity highway-robber. 

Planets, candles. 

Co7timandmcnts, the fingers. 

Saint Martin asleep, to rob a person asleep. 

Lanterns, eyes. 

Goblin, police officer. 

Papagayo, a spy. 

Vineyards and Dancing John, to take flight 

Page 302. If thou art sleeping, maiden. 

From the Spanish ; as is likewise the song of the Contra- 
bandista on page 304. 



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